


You Can't Cross the Same River Twice (so it's a good thing Boston is on the Atlantic)

by angryhausfrau



Series: What is it That You're Fighting For [3]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Trapper and Hawkeye are finally in the same damn city, addendum: chapter 4 is PWP, and contains explicit sex, but i've bumped up the rating just in case, chapter 11 is PWP and contains, so there will be actual dialogue in this story, this is gonna be like eighty percent schmaltz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 52,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24805303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryhausfrau/pseuds/angryhausfrau
Summary: The war is over and Hawkeye returns home. Well, he returns to Boston. And to Trapper.Maybe it's not what he dreamed of in Korea, not his dad or Crabapple Cove. But lately he isn't feeling much like Hawkeye Pierce.
Relationships: "Trapper" John McIntyre/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Series: What is it That You're Fighting For [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755769
Comments: 52
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

Trapper waits for Hawkeye's train at South Station. He'd gotten a flight home through New York and rather than stay there or go all the way up to Maine - ya know the two places he's got family - Hawk's coming to Boston. Trapper tries not to read too much into that, but he's not really sure he's succeeding. And then the train's pulling in and there are crowds of people swarming the platform and he sees Hawkeye. He looks older - hair starting to gray, skinny frame now gaunt - but it's him. And they're hugging, Trapper completely enveloping Hawk's frame. And Hawkeye buries his face in Trapper's neck, gives him a soft, gentle kiss behind the ear, and it's like all the years, all the miles that separated them are gone.

They disentangle with a few manly pats on the back - just two old war buddies reuniting, nothing to see here folks - and Trapper throws a companionable arm over Hawk's shoulders.

"Hey sailor, buy you a drink?" Trapper's tone is at once joking and serious. The line they've always trod with flirtation. The line they've always had to tread.

"I'm not much of a drinker anymore," Hawk replies. And there's a story there, or maybe multiple stories.

But Trapper ain't one to pry so all he says is, "Buy you a club soda then, unless you're off bars too? But I know a quiet little place where we could go dancing. Like in Tokyo."

He can tell from Hawkeye's expression that he gets the reference. Understands what Trapper's offering him. And he leans a little more into Trapper.

"Ok," breathes Hawkeye. "That sounds nice."

They take the streetcar. Hawk hates confined spaces on a good day and had once told Trapper about losing his shit and his lunch on the New York subway while visiting a cousin. And today doesn't look like a particularly good day for Hawkeye. He has the same kinda glazed look of disbelief that Trapper's sure he wore that first day - or week - back. Looking at everything but not really taking it in. Just lost in the overwhelming non-Koreaness of it all. He only wraps his arm tighter around Hawkeye.

Hawkeye can't believe he's actually here, next to Trapper on a Boston streetcar. Home. He's thought about being back stateside for so long his memories had begun to take on a dreamlike quality. He couldn't quite remember how things looked or smelled or tasted. Places he knew existed started to seem unreal, hazy instead of sharp and clear. But there's no mistaking the sensation of being pressed against Trapper's side, joined from shoulder to ankle, warm and real and alive. Because despite all the letters they'd exchanged, Trapper had begun to feel unreal too. Hawkeye couldn't quite remember the exact color of his eyes or the sound of his voice and he'd started to worry that he wouldn't be able to recognize Trapper anymore. And he has changed. But so has Hawkeye - finally gone sane thanks to Sidney Freedman. And he and Trapper still fit together, even if it's not exactly the same way they used to. And that's a bigger relief than Hawkeye can express. And he's glad Trapper suggested going out, because now he wants to see if they still fit together when they dance.

The bar Trapper brings him to is unobtrusive to say the least - no sign outside, no indication that it's a bar at all. And Hawkeye gets a once over from the guy at the door before a nod from Trapper gets them inside. Hawkeye's barely through the door before he's wrapped around Trapper, holding him so close it's like he's trying to climb into Trap's skin. And Trapper just smiles down at him, eyes so warm they're melting, and holds Hawkeye back just as tightly.

"Boy did I miss you," Trapper whispers into Hawkeye's ear. And then louder, "C'mon honey, we're blocking the doorway. Let's hit the dancefloor."

Because even here, two guys just standing there clinging to one another is a little strange. And there's something soft and schmaltzy playing so they can dance close and sweet and slow. Hawkeye lets himself just drift, just be there in the moment with Trapper. Lets himself stop being Hawkeye Pierce, famed in song and story, and just be. He's glad that they can still move together like this. They've both changed so much in the year and a half the feels like at least eight. Hawkeye is older and grayer and he feels tired right down to his bones. And Trapper is somehow even more built than when he left Korea. But they still fit together, even if it's not quite how they used to.

Trapper isn't sure how many songs they dance to, they all just melt together into the background as he and Hawk do their best to melt into a single person. But eventually something fast and jazzy comes on and he and Hawkeye have danced like that before - and had a lot of fun - but it just doesn't seem right to dance that way tonight.

Hawk must feel the same way cuz he pulls away a little, looks up at Trapper through his eyelashes and says, "I'd take that drink now."

With him looking like that, Trapper'd give him the world. Compared to that, braving the bar for a club soda is nothing. When he's fought his way back through the crowd, drinks in hand, he sees Hawkeye's somehow managed to finagle a booth in the back corner furthest from the dancefloor. Sliding in next to him, Trapper presses close, till they're touching from shoulder to ankle - just like how they used to sit together all the time in Korea. And he feels real right and good and happy when Hawkeye presses back against him just as strong.

Trapper seems content to just sit in silence, sipping at his beer, and Hawkeye is grateful. He used to be able to spin a web of words, ensnaring people, drawing them in, making them do what he wanted. He used to be able to build walls of words so high that nothing could hurt him - not even Korea. But since Sidney walked through his mind, tore down all the false fronts built by his subconscious, the words haven't come easily. They're still there in his mind, but they feel false and Hawkeye can't bear to speak them. But it hurts to cough out the jagged barbs of truth - they leave his throat bloody and raw - so he just hasn't said much since leaving the 4077. Only saying what he absolutely needs to. But there is one more thing he needs to say. A desperate confession. And he knows Trapper will listen. So.

"I don't think I can go home, Trap. Not to Crabapple Cove, not to my dad. I've changed too much."

It feels like a betrayal to say it out loud. It'd been all he ever wanted, all he ever thought about, dreamed about since coming to Korea. But Hawkeye's had a lot of time to think on the boat home, away from people who knew him, had expectations of him. Expectations beyond the professional anyway - and writing VD prescriptions hadn't exactly taxed his medical ability. And Hawkeye had found that free from any perceived notions of who he was, he was a very different person. Quieter. Less desirous of being the center of attention. And the idea of returning to Crabapple Cove, to the people who've known him all his life, to his father, to everyone who'll expect him to be the same old Hawkeye Pierce - it's terrifying. He isn't that man anymore. And maybe he'll change again in the future, free from the war long enough to find a different self, but he can never be his old self again. The war has changed him too much. So he can't go home - and the knowledge feels like betrayal.

And Trapper just turns and looks at Hawkeye. Like he's seeing right down to the heart of him and says, "That's ok, Hawk. You can stay with me as long as you want."

And that's the end of it. Because Trapper may be good with snappy comebacks but he doesn't use words the same way Hawkeye does. Did. When he says that it's ok, he means that Hawkeye's ok just as he is. When Trapper says he's welcome, it means he's welcome, changes and all.

And when Trapper finishes his drink and says, "Let's go home," Hawkeye knows he means it.

Trapper hadn't expected Hawkeye to sleep with him - hadn't expected anything at all really, willing to just roll with the punches. So he'd offered Hawk the guestroom, or the master bedroom and he'd take the guestroom - but Hawk'd just smiled and crawled into Trapper's bed. So now Trapper's laying in bed with Hawkeye all curled up next to him, resting his head on Trapper's shoulder. And when they kiss, Hawkeye tastes like Trapper's toothpaste, and he smells like Trapper's soap, and he's wearing a pair of Trapper's pajamas - the army had lost Hawkeye's luggage somewhere between San Francisco and New York and he's not holding his breath on Hawk getting it back. And Trapper feels like he's been split open along the sternum, his ribs retracted to reveal his beating heart. So full of joy that it almost hurts.

He kisses Hawkeye on the forehead, pulls up the covers, and turns out the light.


	2. Chapter 2

Trapper wakes up the next morning with a numb arm and Hawkeye's hair up his nose and he feels happier than he has in over a year. It's been a long time since he's slept with someone - and he means the sleeping part literally. Even if they never have sex, the intimacy of going to bed and waking up wrapped around another person - a person he loves, Hawkeye - fills something in Trapper he didn't even know was missing. He feels so full of joy, there's a weight in his chest, like his heart is overflowing.

The emotions are too much. He can't just keep laying there - needs to move, to run, to punch a heavy bag, to wear himself out until he's back at equilibrium. Able to act like a human being again instead of a big lump of _feelings_. So Trapper works to carefully extricate himself from both Hawkeye and the bedding. Hawkeye just barely wakes up during this process, eyes bleary and unfocused.

"I'm gonna head to the gym. I'll be back in about an hour." Trapper kisses Hawkeye on the forehead and he promptly falls back asleep. Trapper hopes at least some of what he said sunk in.

Trapper's feeling a lot more settled after his workout. Still happy, but it's manageable now, not the almost overwhelming storm of feelings from before. And now that he's done, he can go home to Hawkeye. Just the idea of it fills him with a warm glow. He doesn't want to miss a single second of time with him.

He didn't have to worry about missing any time, Hawkeye's still asleep when Trapper gets back. And he spends a little time just looking at him - sleeping in Trapper's bed, looking more relaxed, softer. So Trapper lets him sleep. He even manages to sleep through Trapper's shower. And the fact that Hawk doesn't wake up to ask to join him shows he must really need the sack time.

Hawkeye wakes up and the first thing he sees is Trapper exiting the bathroom in a towel - and only a towel. He's slightly damp and mostly naked and mmmm. Hawkeye gives a little wriggle of enjoyment. He could get used to waking up like this.

"Morning, Hawk," says a Trapper who is, regrettably, putting on pants. "Eggs and toast ok for breakfast? I can fry some bacon too if you want." He clearly remembers Hawkeye's issues with chicken, mentioned in his final letter from Korea, and it's nice of him to check in about related foods. And Hawkeye's not quite sure how he'll react to any breakfast food that isn't unidentifiable army slop, but he wants to find out.

"Sounds good to me, Trap." And it does. Real eggs, bread younger than BJ's daughter, _bacon_. He's dreamed about a meal like this since he landed in Korea.

So Trapper heads down to the kitchen to make breakfast - and isn't that just so domestic it hurts - and Hawkeye heads to the bathroom to freshen up. It's an indescribable luxury to be able to wash his face, shave with a new razor, piss in a toilet instead of a stinking hole in the ground. And Trapper had told him to wear whatever of his clothes he wanted - given that he can't just wear his Class A's everywhere, not that he wants to - and the slacks and shirt are soft and clean and non army-issue. The socks don't even have holes. He walks downstairs feeling like a new man.

The smell that greats him is heavenly. And Trapper is clearly an angel in this scenario because he hands Hawkeye a mug of real coffee - made just the way he likes it - and it tastes so good that it wraps right around to sinful.

"I had no idea you could cook like this," Hawkeye says through a mouthful of fluffy scrambled eggs and buttery golden toast. When he's done chewing, he immediately crams an entire piece of bacon into his mouth.

"Well, I couldn't have Louise accusing me of giving the girls scurvy." He gestures to the carton of real orange juice on the table. Truly the nectar of the gods. "And to tell the truth, I really missed eating good, home cooked meals in Korea. Since I'm the only one home, I figured I better learn. Besides, you could stand to gain some weight - or buy some new threads. You're practically swimming in my clothes and I'm not that much taller than you."

"Not everyone's built like a brick hospital, Trapper. I've always been willowy. But you're right about the clothes, I can't show up to a job interview looking like a drowned rat. Everyone would turn me away except Charles - and he'd see me just to laugh me out of his office in person."

"You'd really wanna work under Winchester? I know your specialty's thoracic but I've met the guy and he's really.. something. I dunno how you and BJ made it a whole year without punching him in his posh face."

Hawkeye shrugs. "He's a good surgeon and, unlike Frank Burns, an actual human being. But I don't know if I want to work for him - I don't know if I want to work at a big hospital at all. I don't know if I could handle ..."

Trapper reaches across the table and lays a big, warm hand on Hawkeye's arm. It's comforting, grounding. A reminder that he's not in an operating room in Korea, staring down at a dying kid, feeling lost, not knowing what to do, how to help - but knowing he's expected to.

"You don't gotta go back to a hospital if you don't want, Hawk. There's plenty of smaller clinics in Boston that'd be glad to have you. You worked at one before you shipped out, right?" Hawkeye nods. "It might be closer to private practice. Less surgery, more getting to know your patients. Without having to treat people who knew you as a kid."

Trapper always was the pragmatic one. The reason why so many of their plots and practical jokes succeeded. Hawkeye would go off on a flight of fancy, dream up a desired result, and Trapper would figure out how to get them there. And now he's giving Hawkeye the solution to his dilemma about whether to go home to Crabapple Cove or to work in a big busy hospital - which has been haunting him since the 4077 farewell dinner - as if it's nothing. As if the solution is obvious. And maybe it is, but Hawkeye's been so wrapped up in choosing between the two things he's wanted - or thought he wanted - since he started med school that he completely missed a third option. And maybe working at a clinic's not as prestigious as Boston Mercy or Mass Gen, and maybe it's not following in his dad's footsteps like everyone back home expects, but if it's right for him who cares what other people think.

"Despite what everyone says, you're really smart sometimes, Trapper." Trapper grips Hawkeye's arm gently, smiling as he lets go, and moves back to his own side of the table. "But even the South End clinic I used to work at won't take me looking like this. Want to hit the town after breakfast?" Trapper's grin widens until it matches Hawkeye's own. The look that precedes all their best pranks.

* * *

Trapper keeps a close eye on Hawkeye as they run errands - being a civilian again had taken some getting used to and he hadn't been through the real rough stuff at the end. To go from the front lines - and Hawk said they'd been bugging out about every three days those last few weeks as both sides fought to gain every scrap of ground they could before the truce - to a department store's gotta be jarring. And Hawkeye's quieter than he usedta be - quieter even than he'd been at home this morning - but he seems to be holding up ok. And a few discrete words to the overeager sales clerks fluttering nearby about his old war buddy just back from Korea who lost all his luggage gets them a respectable stack of socks, shorts, and undershirts - and it leaves Hawkeye to pick out the rest of his clothes in peace.

Hawkeye's always been, well, _flamboyant_. Not that Trapper doesn't like to get dressed up too - but he's not too surprised that Hawk's gravitating towards the more colorful clothes. Lotsa pinks and reds. Several plaid shirts. Patterned ties. And he stays far away from anything green or khaki. But he also picks out several sedately colored pairs of pants and a sharp light-gray suit. He might not be welcome at a bank manager's meeting but Hawk'll still look more professional than Trapper's ever seen him. It makes him wonder if Hawkeye was like this before Korea or if this is a more recent development - Hawkeye is, after all, the man who brought a tuxedo to a war zone.

Hawkeye rounds out his new wardrobe with a hat and a couple pairs of shoes. He says he has army scrip to burn, what with the last few poker games being called on account of shelling. And he sweet talks a sales clerk into letting him wear one of his new outfits out of the store - giving Trapper his own clothes to carry, along with the rest of Hawkeye's bags. And Hawkeye doesn't seem ready to go home yet, so Trapper shifts the bags a little higher in his grip and they wander around downtown Boston. And Hawkeye drags him into a drugstore to buy his own razors. And then into another department store cuz he wants to try out all the different colognes and aftershave lotions. They both leave the store smelling absolutely Godaweful and Hawkeye tells the story of how Radar broke an entire bottle of perfume in his duffel bag coming back from R&R and how everyone had to hold their breath and run through the front office for a week afterwards, it smelled so strong. And now they're sitting in a diner having lunch and Trapper's disappointed they can't sit on the same side of the booth all squished together - not out in public - but he makes up for it by knocking his shoe up against Hawkeye's under the table.

Hawkeye had forgotten how much he enjoys spending time with Trapper. Even doing boring things like clothes shopping. It reminds him of the leaves he and BJ spent in Seoul or Tokyo. With BJ abstaining from extra-marital hanky panky, and Hawkeye not wanting to just abandon him while he got off with some Geisha or GI, he'd spent a lot of enjoyable hours just wandering around the cities. And sure, a lot of it had been spent drunk, but there were usually a few hours between the hangover from the night before and the drunken debauchery of the current night where things felt almost like this.

And he doesn't feel the same way about BJ as he does about Trapper - wouldn't let himself, not with how devoted BJ is to Peg, not with how guilty cheating would make him feel. But he does love BJ and miss him. And with BJ's goodbye the marked end of their old friendship, Hawkeye feels like he can maybe reach out. Form a new, long-distance friendship even as they both go about their separate lives. He's just not sure how to do it.

"You look like you're thinkin pretty hard there, Hawk. Don't hurt yourself." And then Trapper's expression turns to genuine concern. "If you wanna go home, just lemme know."

"No, I'm fine. Just thinking about writing to BJ." Trapper's expression goes strange at that and Hawkeye realizes he never told Trapper the end of the BJ saga. "He got as far as Guam and then the army sent him back to the 4077. And the second time he left, he said goodbye. Which I guess makes it easier for me to say hello. But he's home now - with his wife and kid. I have no idea if he even wants to hear from me. He might just want to forget all about Korea."

"If he's anything like me - or you, I'm pretty sure - he ain't gonna be able to forget Korea just by wishin. And I'm sure he'd appreciate knowing you're alive and back in the states. Hell, you could just send him that. A postcard with "I'm Alive" and your new mailing address."

"Ok," Hawkeye chokes out between honking laughs. The idea strikes him as something BJ would love. "Ok, but you're helping me pick out the stupidest, ugliest postcard he's ever seen."

They go back to the drugstore and the winning postcard, which Trapper finds, is a doozy. It has a highly dramatized artists rendition of the great molasses flood and the words "Hello from Bean Town!" emblazoned on it in bright yellow letters. Hawkeye writes a short note stating his current aliveness and wishing BJ, Peg, and Erin well and then addresses, stamps, and mails the postcard before he can second guess himself.

"Ok, Trap. Now I'm ready to go home."

* * *

When they get home, Hawkeye puts all his new clothes away and then takes a nap. Trapper remembers how much the change in time zones between Korea and Boston had messed him up and lets Hawk sleep. He uses the time to go out and buy some groceries. He's used to cooking for one and the way Hawk's been going after food today - practically rapturous in his enjoyment - Trapper figures he oughtta stock up. And he went absolutely crazy for fresh vegetables when he got home from Korea so when he sees fresh peas at the store, he buys a bucket-load. Along with stuff to make meatloaf and potatoes au gratin. Maybe a little heavy for summer but real stick to your ribs kinda food - and Hawkeye's ribs are far too prominent right now - and it'll be easy to reheat tomorrow after his shift at the hospital.

And Hawk seems to enjoy the meal, even having seconds - something Trapper'd never seen him do before. And that's a real nice feeling. And so's Hawk standing next to him at the kitchen sink, drying dishes as Trapper washes. And then they're brushing their teeth next to each other at the bathroom sink and then they're putting on pajamas and crawling into bed. And they stay up reading for a while. And then they're kissing, deep and slow and perfect. Like they've got all the time in the world.

And the last thing Trapper hears before he falls asleep is Hawkeye's whispered "Goodnight."


	3. Chapter 3

Trapper's shift starts disgustingly early and he's moving around the dark bedroom as quietly as possible, obviously trying not to wake Hawkeye as he gets dressed. But after sleeping so much over the past few days and going to bed reasonably early the night before, he's awake anyway. So Hawkeye turns on the lamp and he's treated to the sight of Trapper in shorts, socks, a mis-buttoned shirt, and and a severely off-kilter tie. Hawkeye laughs at him as he fumbles to straighten everything out.

"Sure, laugh it up. A guy tries to be considerate and this is the thanks he gets? Next time I'll just turn on the light at 4 am - see who's laughing then." But he's smiling, face so full of openness and warmth Hawkeye can't stand it and he has to go kiss him right on his stupid - adorable - overbite.

They kiss for a while, and they're both clearly interested in more, but Trapper has somehow become a responsible person in the year and a half since he left Korea. So rather than taking off the clothes he has on, Trapper pushes Hawkeye gently away and finishes getting dressed. And then they go downstairs to eat breakfast together. Maybe it's not the quickie Hawkeye was hoping for - and that definitely would have made Trapper late for work, because Hawkeye doesn't feel like being all that quick - but this is nice too.

And if, after Trapper leaves for work, Hawkeye takes a very long, hot, _pleasureable_ shower, well that's between him, fantasy Trapper, and his own right hand.

Hawkeye's morning isn't altogether unproductive, though. He writes his dad finally. He'd sent a telegram from San Francisco saying he was back stateside, but nothing since. And it's a short letter, just letting his dad know he's fine and in Boston with Trapper and that he's not ready to come up to Maine yet but loves and misses him. The letter is a load off Hawkeye's mind, though. He doesn't want his dad to worry, but he also can't face him in person yet.

Hawkeye also writes letters of introduction - or reintroduction - to the various clinics around Boston, eager to get back to practicing real medicine after so many years of meatball surgery. And he's hoping to be rehired at the clinic in South End because it's familiar and close to Trapper's house and on the bus line. Because, the thing is, he doesn't technically have a driver's license. He hadn't needed one to drive in small town Maine - and he was rarely able to borrow his dad's car since it was needed in case of medical emergencies - and he hadn't needed to drive at all in big cities like New York or Boston. And though he'd passed the Korean version of a road test, it doesn't count in the states - and Rizo had maybe gone a little easy on him. He had once managed to flip a Jeep and give himself a concussion after all. Anyway, Trapper doesn't have a car he could borrow. Apparently that had gone to his ex-wife in the divorce. But, Trapper said, he'd gotten the house and he doesn't live out in the suburbs like Robert and now Louise so he hadn't minded too much.

So Hawkeye can't drive, legally or otherwise, and he figures he should probably get used to taking the bus as soon as possible. He and Trapper had taken the train when they went downtown - a mode of transportation that doesn't yet have any negative associations for Hawkeye - but it doesn't run everywhere. So he girds his proverbial loins, checks a bus schedule, and plans a trip to buy knitting supplies. It's a relaxing hobby and Hawkeye figures he'll need that after the day's adventure in public transit.

And it's not so bad really. The bus looks completely different for one thing, and there are no kids on the bus - just a few elderly ladies that kindly don't say anything about his tense posture and desperate staring out the window - his way of making sure he doesn't get magically transported to Korea. So Hawkeye makes it to the dry goods store ok and buys needles and yarn and a sweater pattern he thinks would make a good Christmas present for Trapper. And if the yarn he picks out happens to be a shade that will bring out the green in Trapper's hazel eyes, that's nobody's business but his. And it's so strange to be able to just go where he wants when he wants, doing what he wants. There's no concept of AWOL or leave or something-hour passes. He's free in a way he hasn't been in three years.

To celebrate his freedom, Hawkeye buys a magazine from the news stand - something bright and splashy and full of celebrity gossip - and then sits in the sunshine on a park bench for over an hour, reading the magazine and just enjoying being outside on such a nice summer day. In a place where there are flowers and trees and mothers with strollers and laughing children. A place that has remained untouched by blood and death and war. And then Hawkeye buys himself an ice cream cone.

He makes his way home and the bus ride is less nerve wracking the second time, even though the bus is more crowded. There are a couple of young kids, though, and their shrieks of laughter make him flinch - and bite back a tense order to be quiet - the first few times but he calms down. There are no enemy patrols here. Maybe he'll eventually believe that and be as bored and indifferent towards his surroundings as the rest of the passengers. But at least for now he should be able to make it to job interviews, and hopefully soon a job, without breaking down. Still, it's a relief to get home.

* * *

Trapper must've accidentally mentioned Hawkeye being in Boston somewhere too near Charles Winchester - or maybe hospital gossip is just that powerful - cuz they both get invited out for drinks at some unbearably posh club in fucking Back Bay. The kinda club that wouldn't let Trapper in through the delivery entrance much less into the actual bar. But Winchester's delivery of the invitation - which had involved calling Trapper to his office right as he was about to leave for the day - had brooked no argument. So now he's gotta go break the bad news to Hawkeye. And try not to get murdered by a bunch of angry WASPs.

Fortunately, Trapper's shift both started and ended early today so he has time to go get bruised and sweaty with all the other working class louts at the boxing gym before heading home to try and make himself look respectable enough for Winchester to be seen with him. Ok, that's not quite fair. He seems like a halfway decent guy. Still an upper class prick and a showboat surgeon - but he obviously cares about all his patients the same, regardless of their background. And maybe it's just cuz he can't stomach being anything but the top cutter in the outfit, but it's better than some of the docs Trapper's gotta work with. It's just that when Winchester or any of the other docs with _breeding_ look at him, they see dumb Paddy before they see competent Ivy League surgeon.

Trapper ain't ashamed of any part of who he is. And he knows there's times and places he's gotta keep parts of himself hidden - to keep himself safe, to blend into the various worlds he lives in. But it pisses him off that his coworkers can't look past their shallow perceptions of him and see _him_. That's what he loves about Hawkeye. Trapper can be his entire self around him - no hiding, no being looked over.

At least that's one positive side to this whole deal. Hawk'll be there with him. And he's wearing his new suit and it looks real good. Trapper's disappointed when the car Winchester sent arrives cuz it interrupts his, ah, appreciation. But being chauffeured around is fun - the driver's wearing honest to God livery and Trapper feels like some kinda English lord outta a novel.

Reality comes crashing back in when they get to the club and the doorman or concierge or whatever gives him a look of such curdling contempt for daring to introduce himself as Dr. John McIntyre, here on Dr. Charles Winchester's invitation. Dr. Benjamin Franklin Pierce - nice and patriotic and Anglican - gets let in with no problem and Hawkeye must go get Winchester cuz he descends on the sneering sonofabitch like a pompous tidal wave. All "Do you know who I am?" and "How dare you presume to tell me who I can and cannot entertain" and "My family has been in Back Bay for three generations" and blah blah blah. Trapper just wants to leave, wants to run as far away as he can get, but Hawkeye's hovering there behind Winchester, looking about as miserable as Trapper feels, and he can't just leave him. And eventually Winchester's tirade winds down and Trapper gets let inside and Winchester is stuffily apologetic about the whole thing. Trapper appreciates that - knows how rarely Winchester apologizes about anything - but he had to've known, he's lived in Back Bay his whole life, he _had_ to have known.

They get their drinks at the bar and head to a secluded table. Trapper has a whiskey and it's American - cuz of course it is - but it's ok as far as it goes. He's certainly drunk worse. And Winchester has some sorta fancy cognac that probably costs more per bottle than Trapper makes in a month. And Hawkeye has a Shirley Temple.

"On the wagon again, eh Pierce? Too bad; the cognac here is almost worth drinking. But I suppose anything is better than those terrible martinis you used to swill."

Hawkeye just smiles winningly and eats the cherry out of his drink. And immediately makes a face. Apparently the Shirley Temple habit is a new one.

"I dunno about you, Hawk, but I can't drink a martini that doesn't taste like it's made with lighter fluid anymore."

Hawkeye laughs. "It's true, they go down too smooth with real gin. And besides, I remember you doing plenty of swilling over in Korea, Charles. You're still the only Swamp denizen to ever get kicked out of Rosie's three nights in a row."

"No kidding? _You_ went to Rosie's? And I don't think I managed to get kicked out even once." Trapper puts on an exaggerated look of contrition.

"Oh yeah, Charles became a regular lush when some kid of a Captain from Tokyo -"

"Insolent upstart," Winchester interjects.

"- replaced Potter for a bit and showed us all up but good."

And then they're off, telling funny stories from Korea. Charles has a bunch that Trapper never heard about from Hawkeye and even some from when he was stationed in Tokyo that Hawk's never heard either. And he and Hawkeye tell a bunch from back before Trapper shipped home - mostly about Frank Burns, but some about Radar and Klinger and Henry Blake. There's a moment of silence while they raise a toast.

And then Winchester says, "When are you coming to work for me, Pierce? Even _McIntyre_ found a job at Boston Mercy. Surely you don't think I would turn you away?" And suddenly the air of camaraderie is gone.

"I think I can do more good outside a big hospital, Charles." Then Hawkeye's expression turns icy. "Anyway, Trapper has to work the job he _found_ at Boston Mercy tomorrow, so I think we ought to be going."

Winchester looks confused. Like he knows he fucked up but he's not quite sure how. "Well, we'll have to do this again sometime soon. Perhaps at a different venue?" He cuts an apologetic look toward Trapper.

"Sure. But Hawk's right, I oughtta head home for some shuteye."

They shake hands under the watchful sneer of the concierge.

"Sorry if I got you blackballed from your fancy club, Winchester."

He huffs out a sigh but looks less constipated. And Hawkeye's smile becomes less fixed. All in all, the night coulda gone worse.

* * *

"Thank you for doing that."

"You're welcome." Trapper's response is muffled in the join of Hawkeye's neck and shoulder. They're laying cuddled up together in bed - which has become routine - but with Trapper all curled into Hawkeye. Trapper's a little taller and a lot broader than him and Hawkeye usually likes to be held in his big, strong arms. But Trapper seems to need a little extra comfort tonight. He's not one to be self conscious, but he'd been pretty obviously out of his depth the whole evening. And Charles had said some pretty terrible things to him - unintentional as they were. And he'd endured all that for Hawkeye.

"No, I mean it. You spent an entire evening with Charles and the rest of the snobbery brigade for me and I really appreciate it."

Trapper sits up a little so he can look Hawkeye in the eye. "He's your friend - even if he won't admit to it in polite company. There hadta be something decent about him or you woulda never got to be friends. It was worth braving a bunch of Back Bay snobs, including Winchester, to get to see that side of him. And anyway, I gotta work with the guy. It makes sense to play nice." And then Trapper lays back down and he's quiet for long enough that Hawkeye thinks maybe he's fallen asleep.

But then he says, "Next time we do this, we'll just haveta take him to the seediest working class joint we can find that don't have rats." And Hawkeye wonders what the hell he did to deserve having John McIntyre in his life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is PWP. Feel free to skip it. Or read only this chapter. Whatever floats your boat.

"Honey, I'm home!" Hawkeye sings out as he lets the front door slam shut behind him. He's taken a real shine to I Love Lucy.

"In the kitchen!" is Trapper's equally jubilant response so Hawkeye goes to greet him properly.

Trapper is standing at the counter, getting a start on dinner. And he clearly just got home himself because while he's shed his suit jacket and tie, he's still wearing the rest of his work clothes. Which today includes a vest that, coupled with Trapper's rolled up shirt sleeves and general yummyness, has Hawkeye drooling. The way the vest emphasizes Trapper's trim waist and broad shoulders. The way his bare forearms flex. The way his trousers outline his cute little tuchus. Hawkeye's an inveterate ass man and Trapper's is truly excellent.

And ok, maybe Hawkeye's a little sexually frustrated. He's been living with Trapper for about a week now and they kiss frequently and sleep all intertwined and last night they'd danced together in the living room and Trapper had dipped him so deeply Hawkeye had to press every inch of himself against Trapper's lean, muscular body to keep from falling. And he'd felt every inch, _every_ inch, of Trapper's body pressing back against him. And this morning, Hawkeye had felt Trapper's gaze linger on his morning wood as he'd watched Trapper's own cock stiffen. So he knows the interest is there, but they haven't had sex yet. And Hawkeye can't take it anymore.

Trapper's been trying his best to stay focused on making dinner, but it's not easy under Hawkeye's heated stare. It almost feels like a physical presence, it's so heavy. And when Hawkeye stalks across the kitchen like a panther on the hunt and comes to stand pressed against Trapper, his breath catches in his throat. And when Hawkeye grinds up against Trapper, hard and controlling, Trapper breaks.

"Please, Hawk."

It's soft and desperate and it just makes Hawkeye hold Trapper's hips more firmly, grind his aching cock more deeply against Trapper. Like he can fuck him right through all their layers of clothes.

Hawkeye turns Trapper around, kisses him deep and wet and hungry, and says, "Put all that stuff away. Dinner can wait." And Trapper is trembling with arousal as he puts food back in the fridge and dishes back in the cabinets.

Trapper's hands shake as he moves around the kitchen. And his pupils are blown and his erection looks about ready to burst out of his zipper. It makes Hawkeye want to go to his knees, lick and mouth at the hard line of Trapper's cock through his pants, take it out and swallow it down till he can't breathe, cant think of anything but sex and Trapper and sex. But there will be plenty of time for that later. And right now, Hawkeye wants something else.

* * *

"You got any lube, Trap?"

Hawkeye's already found the condoms in Trapper's nightstand and is now rooting around in the bathroom.

"There's Vaseline in the medicine cabinet. And I got surgical gloves in the med kit under the sink."

"I love a man with a well stocked first aid kit," Hawkeye jokes as he gathers the supplies.

Trapper gets a towel out of the linen closet - he doesn't wanna ruin the blankets and with the way he's leaking just thinking about what's coming next, that's a distinct possibility. And then he gets undressed - just in time cuz Hawkeye emerges from the bathroom, chucks the Vaseline and a pair of surgical gloves at him, and starts stripping. He's in such a hurry that there's no finesse to it, just naked want. They kiss, naked and pressed up against each other, and Trapper thinks he'll never get enough of it.

And then Hawkeye says, "Alright Trap, get to work." And he's kneading the head of his own dick and Trapper needs it inside him so bad it hurts. He makes do with one slicked finger, and it's not enough but he knows he's gotta go slow.

He hasn't done this in a long time, not since Korea. Even then, he and Hawkeye rarely had the time or privacy for penetrative sex. And when they did, it usually went the other way. Hawkeye slick and open and begging to be filled. Dick hard as diamond and _dripping_ as he screamed for Trapper to give it to him deeper, harder, to make him feel it for days afterwards. And Trapper hopes to God they'll do that again. But he'd forgotten how good it feels the other way. How good it feels to rub against his prostate. To be desperate and stretched open and _empty_. The delicious ache of needing to be filled.

Trapper's kneeling on the bed, legs spread wide, dick jutting out red and hard and wet. And he's got three fingers in him, splitting himself open, fucking himself deep and hard. Hawkeye's about ready to suggest they move on to the next stage of the proceedings - because as much as he's enjoying the show, he feels like his dick's going to fall off if he doesn't get inside Trapper soon.

But then Trapper's shifting positions so that his face is pressed into the mattress and he's got his other hand slicked up - and Hawkeye had wondered why Trapper'd used both of the two gloves he'd grabbed out of habit. And this is why. He's got two fingers from each hand inside himself, stretching the rim of his entrance, pressing so firmly that the pads of his fingers are turning white. Just holding himself open. Hawkeye feels like he's going to combust from pure want. And it's clearly doing something for Trapper as well. His hips are moving in desperate little jerks, rutting his dripping cock up against nothing but air. And when Trapper turns his head to look at Hawkeye, his eyes are glassy, pupils blown.

"Please, Hawk." Trapper sounds broken and there's nothing Hawkeye wouldn't do for him in this moment.

"You're ok, Trap." Hawkeye runs a hand through Trapper's sweaty curls. "I've got you. Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

And Hawkeye pulls trapper up into a kiss. It must change the angle, press Trapper's fingers deeper, because he screams into Hawkeye's mouth.

And Trapper's pulling his fingers out, desperate for them to be replaced by Hawkeye's cock. He holds out his hands to be stripped of gloves like they're in surgery - and boy is that going to have new connotations for Hawkeye from now on - and then Trapper folds his arms under his head and spreads his legs impossibly wider and arches his back so that his ass juts out even more invitingly. He's absolutely begging for it and Hawkeye's cock jerks at the thought.

Hawkeye lays kisses down the knobs of Trapper's spine and when he gets to the dip right above his ass, he adds a little scrape of teeth. Trapper does a sort of full-body shiver at that and Hawkeye files it away for later. But he figures he's teased Trapper long enough.

Hawkeye enters him in one long, slow grind and Trapper thinks he can feel every inch of him scrape across his prostate and God. _God._

And when he's all the way seated inside, Hawkeye humps up against Trapper a few times. Like he needs to be even deeper inside him. Trapper doesn't think he's ever felt _anything_ so deeply.

And then Hawkeye's pulling out and thrusting back in in a series of long, slow grinds that set Trapper's nerve endings alight. If this keeps up, he's gonna come without even getting a hand on his dick. And Hawkeye's kissing across his shoulders saying things like "Beautiful" and "Perfect" and "So good for me, Trap." It makes Trapper about fucking melt into the mattress.

Hawkeye had meant to take it slow, make it last. But it just feels so good to be buried in Trapper's tight heat that he loses control. And then he's gripping Trapper's hips tight enough to bruise and slamming into him so deep and hard Trapper's dick slaps against his belly on every thrust. If Trapper were any less solidly built, he'd be borne down onto the mattress with the force. But instead he pushes back into the movement, taking everything Hawkeye gives him and begging for more with ragged open-mouthed pants. And Hawkeye gives him more and more and more...

And inside him there's a wave of pleasure that crests and crests and crests  
and breaks.

And he's crashing down on the shores of his orgasm, a broken jumble, grasping at anything stable he can find. And Trapper's there to catch him, his broad back a safe place to land, the rhythm of his breath enough to draw Hawkeye back to reality, back to himself, back to Trapper - who's still hard and aching but doing his best to stay still as Hawkeye rides out the aftershocks.

And Hawkeye's not a selfish lover, not even with the one-night stands. And this is Trapper, the man he loves. So Hawkeye pulls himself together, pulls out as gently as possible, and strips off the condom.

Trapper can feel himself trembling with pent up arousal - he's been on a knife's edge for so long it hurts - and then Hawkeye fists a hand in his hair, pulling him up to kneeling. And the sharp tug just makes him need release all the more.

"God, Trap. You were perfect. Beautiful." Hawkeye emphasizes each sentence with a kiss. Dirty and open mouthed and returned with interest. "Don't worry, I'm gonna take care of you now."

And Hawkeye pushes Trapper back against the stack of pillows and kisses a line down his sternum and belly and hard hard cock - which has Trapper squirming deliciously - until he reaches the head. He takes Trapper into his mouth, down into his throat, until his lips kiss Trapper's groin. And Trapper fists a hand in his hair, uses it to drag Hawkeye back up his dick. And Hawkeye uses this opportunity to suck at the head, to _taste_ Trapper, before relaxing his throat so that Trapper can fuck him raw.

And this, this is a game he and Trapper have played a hundred times - but it never gets old. Trapper so desperate, so forceful - holding Hawkeye in place, _using_ him. This is what he'd dreamed of earlier in the kitchen and it feels so good. Trapper fucking him deep and hard - and none of Hawkeye's skill at blowjobs, none of his finesse, matters - all he can do is take it. And then Trapper's hips give three rough jerks and he's coming and Hawkeye's swallowing and swallowing and swallowing.

And when Trapper lets him up, he plants one last, gentle kiss on the head of Trapper's cock - the only way he knows how to express the joy and love and _tenderness_ he feels - before making his way back up Trapper's gorgeous, sweat-sheened body.

Trapper's feeling warm and happy and sated right down to his bones. And he's not sleepy exactly. But he feels languid as he and Hawk kiss lazily, gently, all twined together.

* * *

Eventually he's tired of being sticky so Trapper gets cleaned up, brings a warm washcloth and a glass to water to Hawkeye, puts all the dirty laundry in the hamper, and then crawls right back into bed.

And maybe Trapper feels like he's been through the wringer. And maybe they eat cold cereal for dinner. But he can't remember being happier.

Although he is glad he has tomorrow off to recover.


	5. Chapter 5

Hawkeye's first day at the South End clinic is a little rough. It's been so long since he's done anything but meatball surgery. And his first patient is a little girl who tripped in a storm drain and sprained her ankle - and scraped the hell out of her legs and her flesh is red red red against her dark skin and she screams when the nurse applies peroxide and Hawkeye feels like he's going to hurl. But he swallows down bile and wraps her ankle and sends her back to her anxious mother with instructions to take it easy and a lollipop. And then he has to go do supply inventory - counting bottles and boxes as they pass through his shaking hands - until he can breath again.

Fortunately, his next patient is elderly Mr. McCall, who's been battling pneumonia. It's summer so all Hawkeye thinks about is getting it licked before it gets cold and the pneumonia turns into something worse. And the routine of listening to his wheezing lungs, of prescribing antibiotics - and knowing he won't sell them on the black market - helps settle Hawkeye further. So he coasts along on a few more elderly patients with chronic complaints - arthritis is particularly prevalent - until he feels almost normal.

And then his shift's over and Dr. Wilson is calling him into his office with a genuine and jovial "Well, Benjamin, how was your first day back?"

Dr. Wilson reminds Hawkeye a lot of his dad. There are obvious differences - Dr. Wilson is Black and wears a mustache and three piece suit - but he exudes the same air of fatherly concern. And Hawkeye never wants to disappoint him, doesn't think he could handle that face turning stern and disapproving. So he tells the truth.

"There were ups and downs. I really liked getting to know the patients - Mrs. McBride especially! It seems like she came in more to gossip than for her rheumatism."

Dr. Wilson laughs. "That's Jenny McBride all right! She'll be trying to set you up with her granddaughter in no time."

Hawkeye smiles. Good luck with that.

"Well, I'm glad that's been an upside for you. A lot of the work we do in this clinic depends on good relationships with our patients." He pauses. "Now, what about the downsides?"

"I'm not good with kids," Hawkeye blurts out.

"Nurse Freeman said you did a fine job with Betty this morning. You were calm and reassuring and explained things so she could understand. I couldn't ask for more."

"I'm glad my bedside manner has such glowing reviews. But I meant that _I_ struggle around kids."

"I suppose you didn't get too many over in Korea." Dr. Wilson's tone is understanding.

And Hawkeye doesn't disabuse him of the notion. Or go into details. Because as much as he likes Dr. Wilson, they're not that close. He's not Potter.

"It's something for me to work on, all right."

Something in his expression must give him away.

"Look, Benjamin." Dr. Wilson leans forward, looks Hawkeye right in the eye. "I hired you because you genuinely care about your patients. About this community. And I rehired you because that hasn't changed in the last three years. I'd be hard pressed to find another doctor with your skill set and your dedication. I'm not going to ask about what you went through over there. My nephew was in the Deuce. Whatever it is you need to do to be able to take care of the kids that come through here, do it. And if you need something from me to make that happen, tell me." He sits back in his chair. "Well, I won't keep you from the rest of your night, I'm sure you're eager to be home. See you tomorrow, Benjamin."

And it's a lot. The weight of Dr. Wilson's understanding and compassion. The weight of his regard. And he remembers - respects - the Hawkeye from three years ago. And Hawkeye is worried because that's not who he is anymore.

* * *

"How do you do it, Trap?" Hawkeye puts down his knitting and turns to Trapper expectantly.

Trapper looks up from his medical journal. "Do what?"

"Trauma surgery. Day in, day out for ten, twelve hour shifts. I would have thought you'd be sick of it after Korea."

"It was the only thing that felt normal, after I got back. Everything was so different. I had changed, my wife had changed, my kids had changed. Our relationships with each other had changed. And I didn't know how to go back to how things were. Or move forward to something new. So I latched onto work cuz that was the only thing I recognized."

"And now?" And Hawkeye looks desperately hopeful. But for what, Trapper doesn't know.

"I ain't still chasing the past. And I figure I got one hell of a future to look forward to." He squeezes Hawkeye's hand briefly. "As for staying in the ER. Well, I've always wanted to help people. It's why I became a doctor. And I'm a damn good trauma surgeon - better than I'd be at anything else. So I figure I can do the most good staying where I'm at."

Hawkeye looks down at his lap, shoulders slumping.

"I had a kid come in today. Sprained ankle, scraped up knees. Routine injuries. And I about lost my lunch taking care of her. I kept seeing that damn baby. And they're nothing alike. She was way older for one thing, maybe five, and not Korean. But I kept seeing the baby. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to see anything else."

"You worried you won't be able to take care of your patients?"

Hawkeye nods, looking miserable.

"When I first got back into the OR, I kept seeing kids I'd worked on at the 4077. Not their faces, but their injuries. I patched up a through and through on some kid's abdomen and I kept running and running the bowel, sure I'd find shell fragments. And a guy got his leg crushed on the docks and my first instinct was to amputate cuz that's what you do when someone steps on a mine. I know it ain't the same thing as with you, but I had to relearn how to do surgery. Had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't in Korea."

"How?"

"Well, all my patients are asleep by the time I get to 'em. But I'd kinda list out the injuries and what I knew of how and where they'd got 'em. Hard to be in Korea if your patient got hurt on a fishing boat or in a warehouse accident or whatever." Trapper pauses to think. "You've maybe got it easier than that, Hawk. Most of what you're doing ain't surgery. You can talk to your patients. Maybe ask 'em about stuff like their day at school or their friends - stuff that couldn't be in Korea."

"And have me become one of those annoying barbers who asks more questions about your background than the CIA? I hate that. They'd hate that. Me just poking at their injuries and demanding the names of all their goldfish."

Hawkeye's looking at Trapper again and making jokes and that seems like a positive sign so he keeps going. "Nah, kids love talking about themselves. Cathy can do a whole half hour on what she and her best friend did at recess. Besides, ain't the whole point of this clinic business getting to know your patients?"

Hawkeye lets out a wry chuckle. "Oh, I've learned more than I ever wanted to about Mrs. McBride's ongoing feud with her downstairs neighbors. She makes life at the front sound peaceful in comparison. And she had _opinions_ about what I prescribed for her rheumatism."

Trapper laughs. "Sounds like a real tough customer."

"She's a force of will all right. Dr. Wilson warned me that she'd try to set me up with her granddaughter and if she tackles that anything like she tackles unruly neighbors, I'm halfway down the aisle already."

Trapper clasps a hand to his chest. "You're leaving me?" He effects mock outrage. "And for some hussy you've never even met! You cad!"

Hawkeye's laughing so hard he's about rolling off the sofa.

"Oh, darling!" He joins in on the game. "You know I could never leave you! She means nothing to me! Besides, the house is in your name."

Trapper grins. "I feel like we're role-playing Ferret Face and Mrs. Burns after she found out about Hot Lips."

"Ugh, never mind. If you're going to say things like that I think I will go marry Mrs. McBride's granddaughter."

That sets them both off again but they eventually collapse in a red-faced heap on the couch, wiping away tears of laughter.

"Thanks, Trap. I needed that." Hawkeye picks up his knitting again and the living room fills with the gentle click of knitting needles. But Hawkeye seems to be thinking something through, so Trapper doesn't pick up his medical journal just yet.

Sure enough, a few minutes later he's turning to Trapper, looking troubled.

"I spent so long talking things away in Korea. The war. Other people. My own damn self. All of what I was thinking and feeling and _living_. People were relying on me to keep them sane through the bad stuff. As long as Hawkeye's cracking jokes and raving at the brass, everything's normal, everything's fine. And I guess I got so good at lying to everyone else, I was able to lie to myself. And then I went crazy. And then I went sane. And then I didn't talk for a while - not about anything that wasn't work - not for the whole boat ride home. Because I was afraid I'd start lying to myself again."

He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

"Being crazy was terrible. Everything was hidden, muddled. I couldn't trust myself - and that made me distrust everything else. But being sane was worse. Going back to the 4077 a sane man was like that first day all over again. I could see. Like a spotlight had been put on everything. I could _see_. Everything in such close detail, in such clear focus."

Another breath.

"So I guess I'm looking for the right balance of sane and crazy. And I don't know what words go with that yet."

"And you're worried you'll maybe lose yourself in words again if you start talking to your patients?"

Hawkeye nods.

"Well, I ain't exactly an expert on words. But I think there's some pretty big differences between the two kinds of talking. You ain't gonna be talking to keep people away. You're gonna be talking to get them to talk to you. Talking to listen."

Hawkeye grins. "I've been told I'm pretty bad at that."

"I guess you'll just have to practice. And maybe it takes you a while to find the balance between talking and listening -"

"Between crazy and sane," Hawkeye interjects.

"- but you got time. The war. The war changed a lot of stuff real quickly. It makes sense that it'd take a while to find equilibrium. Hell, I've been back over a year and I'm still lookin."

"But Trapper," Hawkeye chuckles,"you have your shit so together."

"Ah, don't let my failed marriage, unhealthy work schedule, and occasional screaming nightmares fool you - I'm a fucking mess, Hawk. But I'm doing better than I was, and I figure that's something."

"Well, here's to being a fucking mess." Hawkeye toasts with an imaginary glass.

Trapper clinks his own imaginary glass against it. "Together."

* * *

Hawkeye feels a lot more settled after that conversation. And he knows it will take time and work to reach whatever new equilibrium he ends up at. But it's a relief to have things out in the open. A relief to know he and Trapper are still on the same page with all this. Still together.

Hawkeye may feel more settled, but Trapper is anxious, agitated. And Hawkeye understands. He'd done a lot of talking from the heart tonight. It's not that Trapper's bad with words, just that he's like Hawkeye - not great with emotional vulnerability. Though he tends to bottle things up rather than hide behind jokes and wisecracks. But he'd put himself out there for Hawkeye. Dredged up things he was happier not thinking about just to help and reassure him. So the least he can do is let Trapper get his own equilibrium back.

"Trap, you look about ready to shake out of your skin. Go punch something heavy for a while."

Trapper looks dubious. He obviously doesn't want to leave Hawkeye all on his own right now.

"Really, Trap, I'm fine. I'm feeling a lot better now. I just want to sit here and work on my knitting. Maybe listen to some music."

"No more confessions of deep-seated fears?" Trapper teases.

"Nope, I'm all confessed out. Now get out of here before I stab you for disturbing my peace and quiet!" Hawkeye shakes a knitting needle at him to show he means business.

Trapper laughs at him but he does leave for the gym. And Hawkeye has a very nice evening knitting Trapper's surprise sweater.

When Trapper comes home, he's sweaty and exhausted but he's calm. And Hawkeye can't even complain too much when Trapper pulls him up into a slightly damp embrace. Kisses him slow and tender and then deep and filthy. This is the kind of talking he and Trapper are both good at.


	6. Chapter 6

Hawkeye and Trapper fall into a household routine over the next few weeks, based around their respective work schedules. They figure out things like which nights they each cook dinner, when to go grocery shopping, when Trapper goes to the gym - usually while Hawkeye sleeps the sleep of the blameless - and all the other little domestic tasks that come with sharing a home. Because for all that the Swamp was an absolute pit, now that they have a home - a real one - they want it to be well, homey.

They even make time for dates. Sometimes going out to the bar they'd gone to Hawkeye's first night in Boston where they can dance together somewhere other than their own living room. Sometimes they go out to the neighborhood bar to dance and flirt with women - the girls lovely and fun and sweet - and a necessary cover for two bachelors living together. And it's almost like foreplay. Attraction stretching and spooling out between them as they dance on opposite sides of the room, heated glances exchanged over their partners' heads. And when they come together at the end of the night, it's all the sweeter for having to wait for it.

Frankly, their sex life has been pretty fantastic all around. Ever since that first night they'd fucked - the night Hawkeye had taken a desperate, begging Trapper apart and then been taken in turn - it was like a dam had burst. Like Trapper realized he could have this - have Hawkeye - whenever he wanted. And he'd wanted a lot. Which was good because so had Hawkeye. So they've moved back into the sexual relationship they'd had in Korea - fun and hot and ravenous. But something is different. There's an added element of stability. Or a removal of the stress and the fear and the unfun kind of desperation. They have the time to just kiss and hold one another. The time to bring the intimacy and love of their friendship into the sack. And it turns out that's a really nice combination.

Hawkeye's life is domestic in a way he never thought he'd have, didn't know he'd wanted after Carlye walked out. But now that he's had a taste of it, he can't imagine going without. And he and Trapper haven't explicitly said what this is - maybe there isn't a word for it - but they've each made it clear that they're in this for the long haul.

* * *

The only thing that breaks their newly established routine is Trapper's daughters coming over for the weekend. Trapper only gets to see them once a month due to his weekend-heavy ER schedule. Hawkeye figures he ought to gracefully bow out so Trapper can have as much time with them as possible. Plus, he's still not one hundred percent comfortable around small children, despite having made progress in interacting with them as patients.

So that Saturday morning, Hawkeye moves enough of his stuff into the guestroom to make it look like he normally sleeps there. And it will feel strange to sleep alone - something he hasn't really done since before Korea, not if he's counting having tent mates - but it's only for the one night anyway. And he's finally gotten his luggage back from the army so he can keep some of the less viscerally sickening items - he hadn't even been able to look at the olive drab fatigues, just told Trapper to toss them before he tossed his cookies - in the guestroom permanently. Less work for future visits.

And Hawkeye pulls an extra Saturday shift at the clinic. It keeps him out from underfoot and they can always use the extra hands. He gets to take the cast off a very exuberant seven year old boy's arm - and learns all about his little league team and the home-stealing slide that caused it - for his troubles. And then it's dinner time and he heads home. Trapper had practically demanded his presence at the meal - and besides, he made a chocolate cake for the occasion and Hawkeye's not missing out on that.

Dinner is fine. Even fun. The girls are happy to talk about anything and everything under the sun. Trapper's conversational efforts amount to reminding the girls to eat their veggies. And Hawkeye just listens. Lets the chatter wash over him. It's almost soothing. The biggest problems these girls have are homework and schoolyard squabbles. Of course, these problems seem like direst threats - and Trapper treats them with all the seriousness of an unexploded hand grenade. But to Hawkeye, they're a reminder that there's still innocence in the world. And that's a balm to his very soul.

After dinner is when things get tricky. Hawkeye's knitting in the living room, his usual after dinner ritual, and Cathy is watching him with the same degree of focus as he'd watch the demonstration of a new surgical technique. She's sitting cross legged on the living room floor next to her abandoned book, looking up at him, eyes following the knitting needles like a tennis match.

"What are you doing?" her little voice pipes up.

Hawkeye leans in to mock whisper, "Knitting a sweater for your dad. Shhh! It's a surprise."

Trapper's at the dining room table, listening to Becky regale him with the story of the very gross but very neat frog dissection she got to watch in science class. And he's paying very close attention to her - even drawing out little diagrams to help Becky show off her new knowledge of amphibious internal organs - so Hawkeye knows he won't overhear. But it's still fun to see Cathy's face split into a wide, conspiratorial grin.

"A secret!"

He nods seriously.

"But why are you knitting? That's for old ladies." Her expression is derisive.

"Well, when I was in Korea, it got sooo cold that even the animals put on parkas." Cathy giggles. "Wool clothing was worth its weight in gold. So I learned how to make socks and scarves and hats just to keep myself warm. And the first things I made were pretty bad. The socks were just lumpy wool bags - even the snakes wouldn't wear them! But I got better and started giving them away as gifts."

Cathy still looks skeptical. "But you're not in Korea anymore."

If only he were so certain of that all the time.

"That's true. But I still like to make presents for my friends. And I think it's fun."

She's still looking at him intently.

"Do you want to learn?"

She considers the question and then nods with all the gravitas of a judge in court. So Hawkeye digs out his old needles from Korea and some fluffy pink yarn that he'd originally bought with Margaret in mind that ought to be easier for her to work with. And the needles are awkward in her small hands but he gets her started on a scarf - the easiest project, just rows of stitches back and forth. And Cathy seems to enjoy it, tongue sticking out in concentration as she counts stitches. She finishes a handful of rows before Trapper deems it bedtime and Hawkeye gives her a congratulatory handshake, acting as if she'd won some prestigious award. She's tickled pink by the game and Hawkeye thinks maybe this kid thing isn't so hard. He hadn't once seen her as anyone other than Cathy.

"Thanks for teaching Cathy how to knit," Trapper says after tucking the girls into bed. "She can be kinda difficult to keep interested in stuff that don't involve running around outside."

"No problem, I'm always glad to convert outsiders to the gory of homemade woolens! Besides, I had fun. She's a funny kid."

"Well, I'm glad you had a good time cuz your presence has been requested at the zoo tomorrow. If you think you're up to it."

"Yeah, I think I am. As long as I'm not intruding on your family time. You get little enough of that as it is."

"You _are_ family, Hawkeye." Trapper's expression turns serious. "I know we ain't exactly talked about it, but I figure we'll be in each other's lives for a while and I don't wanna hide one part of my family from the other. Not more than I have to."

Hawkeye gets a little misty eyed, he's not ashamed to admit. "I'd love to go to the zoo with you tomorrow." He gives Trapper a hug. Because if he gave him anything else, he'd never stop giving. "Goodnight, Trap."

Trapper holds him back just as tightly. "Goodnight, Hawk."

And then they go sleep in separate bedrooms.

* * *

Trapper comes home from the gym to find Hawkeye awake and making the famous Pierce family French toast. It fills Trapper with an unspeakable joy that Hawkeye is willing to bring Trapper's family into his own like that. That Hawkeye feels the same way about being family as he does. And Trapper knows he's gotta go take a shower and get the girls up and ready for the day, but he can't wait for tonight when they can be together again and he can show Hawkeye just how much he appreciates it.

Half an hour later, syrup sticky and bouncing off the walls with a combination of sugar and excitement, Cathy and Becky practically drag him and Hawkeye out the door. And the zoo's crowded but a lot of fun. He's dragged along by Cathy who's pointing out the animals she likes the best - usually the biggest and bloodthirstiest but she's also taken a shine to the lizards in the reptile house. Meanwhile, Becky tells a very patient Hawkeye all about the animals at the zoo, reading from the signs and information cards at each enclosure. And Hawkeye tells her about Radar's collection of animals - started after Trapper left, so he enjoys hearing about it too - and the various surgeries and medical procedures he's done on them - in child appropriate terms, thank God. This prompts a whole new series of questions from Becky and Cathy about the inner workings of animals that Hawkeye seems to enjoy answering. Including things about rabbit ovaries that Trapper doesn't envy Louise having to field follow ups about.

And then it's time to go home so that Louise can come pick up the kids.

* * *

"You mean I can keep them?" Cathy looks up at Hawkeye, overjoyed.

"Sure, sweetheart. After the army lost all my luggage, I went out and bought all new stuff. Those knitting needles are extras. Besides, you still have your scarf on them."

She hugs him, tight enough to push all the air out of his lungs.

"Thanks, Uncle Hawkeye!"

And that. That gets him.

And so does Becky's "Bye, Uncle Hawkeye!" delivered almost carelessly as she runs out the door.

Like it's natural. Like he's family.

* * *

Hawkeye seems to be thinking about something pretty big, judging by how tense he's getting. They're lying in bed together after a vigorous and enjoyable reunion - one that had involved Hawkeye clutching desperately at the sheets as he gasped Trapper's name - but it appears that the afterglow is fading. And as good as the sex had been, Trapper doesn't figure it warrented this level of contemplation.

So after what he considers a reasonable interval, where Hawkeye just gets tenser and tenser, Trapper asks, "Something on your mind, Hawk?"

"Just thinking about family."

A pause.

"I still haven't seen my dad. It's been over a month and all I've done is send a few letters. Like he's a friend across the country instead of my own father, only two hours away."

A longer pause.

"I guess I'm feeling guilty because I've met your family now and I still haven't been up to see mine. But I don't know if I'm ready yet."

Trapper thinks about that a minute. "Well, I think you've done a bunch of stuff since getting back that you didn't feel ready for. And that's turned out ok."

Hawkeye laughs. "True, I've only had the one mental crisis. And I'm probably making this out to be a bigger deal than it is. He's my dad. He loves me no matter what."

Trapper figures Hawkeye's luckier than he knows if that's the case.

"I'll go up to see him next weekend. And if it's too much, I can come right back home the same day."

With that decided, Hawkeye snuggles further into Trapper. Mind quiet enough for him to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Hawkeye's week at work is uneventful, routine. There are no unexpected patients or dire emergencies. Which Hawkeye is glad for, of course he is, what kind of person would he be to wish misfortune and disaster on others. But it does make the week move slowly. And give Hawkeye time to be excited and terrified and excited and terrified and excited over the prospect of seeing his dad again. For the first time in over three years.

But despite his conflicted emotions, Hawkeye gets on the train bright and early Saturday morning. Trapper's already at work, so there's no big send off. Not that he warrants one - he's not going off to war again or anything - it only feels like it. But Trapper had given him a peck on the lips and wished him good luck as he'd rushed out the door at whatever ungodly hour his shift started, so that's something. Fortification against the day to come. And when the cities and boardwalks give way to the rocky coastline of his home state, he feels a sense of _rightness_ he didn't expect. He's lived outside of Maine for years now, but it is still recognizable. Hawkeye just hopes he is too.

* * *

His dad picks him up from the train station and they walk the few blocks to his childhood home together. Hawkeye imagines his shoes sinking deep into the footsteps he'd made over a decade of traversing Crabapple Cove as a kid. And maybe that's fitting. The path is worn, familiar. But his feet don't quite fit the imprints. Larger now than when he was a child, stride changed.

His family home is just as he remembered it, though. Practically unchanged since his mom died. And it's at once comforting and stifling. So Hawkeye drops his bag in the guest room - he can't even look at his childhood bedroom, let alone sleep there - and then heads out to the back porch. He sits and looks out across the ocean and the claustrophobia of memory recedes in the face of its vast expanse.

His dad joins him and they talk about work. The various patients they've had come through in the past month. The clinic's struggles with funding. How a patient had paid his dad with a lobster boat. It's easier than some of the other topics they could broach. Like why Hawkeye took so long to visit. They can stay in the present, away from any potential land mines left over from Korea. Not that there aren't other land mines in the conversation. His dad talks about all the people that've asked after him. All the young women looking to get to know him again. How there's a place for him in the practice. How his dad might be looking to retire in a few years and he needs someone to take over.

And Hawkeye feels like he's choking on all his unspoken truths. Wants to bolt. To go home to Trapper and curl up in his arms. Where it's safe. Where it's comfortable. Where it's easy.

But that feels like giving up. And he's already made it through so many things, he can make it through one more uncomfortable conversation. He owes his dad that much.

"Korea changed a lot of things for me, Dad. It changed _me_. I don't know that I can come back here and be who I was. Live the life I'd be expected to lead."

"I love you, Ben. However you are. And when you're ready to come home, there'll be a place for you here. Always."

His dad's trying. And Hawkeye knows he said all that out of love. But. It's not enough.

And maybe part of it is Hawkeye's fault. He'd always planned to come back home to Crabapple Cove and his dad and the practice. It was all mapped out for him since he was a kid. The stint in Boston was just him sowing his wild oats. Korea just an unfortunate detour in the greater direction of his life. He was just having some fun with the various men and women he'd slept with - just a little fun before he settled down with a wife and kids and a white picket fence. Married a girl he'd gone to high school with and whose family knew his family since they'd both landed on the coast of Maine. He'd just sand off some of his rough edges and put some parts of himself away and be happy. Normal.

Content, at least.

And he'd kept that dream alive all through Korea. In all the dozens and dozens of letters to his dad. Because it was a light at the end of the tunnel. Something to hope for and dream of that hadn't been touched or spoiled by the war. But _he_ has been. And so he can no longer see himself in that fantasy.

He hadn't meant to lie to his dad. Or mislead him. It's just that he went sane. And all the things he'd already started to sand down or hide away were suddenly blindingly visible. And now that Hawkeye's seen them - seen how he was lying to himself about more than just the baby - he can't go back. Can't hide those parts of himself away in his subconscious just to make himself fit back in Crabapple Cove.

But Hawkeye doesn't know how to say all of this. So he just says, "I love you too, Dad." And they sit on the porch in silence, looking out at the ocean.

And when his dad suggests a trip into town, Hawkeye jumps at the chance. Maybe he'll run into every busybody and gossip in Crabapple Cove, but at least he can leave this uncomfortable tension. The half finished conversation that his dad is convinced is over.

It goes about how Hawkeye expected it would. It seems like word has spread and everyone and their grandmother is out and about on Main Street. Just happening to bump into Dr. Pierce and oh there was something they'd been meaning to ask and oh while they're there, why don't you tell us how you've been doing Ben and when are you coming back home? Your father's not getting any younger you know. And all the unmarried women flocking to him and saying remember when back in high school we and oh I'm so glad you're back from Korea and oh maybe we should get to know one another again. And his dad is no help, just standing there laughing to himself as Hawkeye gets mobbed. Objectively, he can see that it's funny - him being browbeat by old ladies and girls he's known since grade school. But Hawkeye feels like he's trapped in a school of piranha.

It's a relief when it hits dinner time and he can escape back to the house. That may be uncomfortable in its own way, but at least it's less crowded. And dinner's easier. Hawkeye and his dad laugh and joke like old times. He can almost forget the hanging threads of their previous conversation.

In the evening, he calls Trapper. Right after Hawkeye knows he'll be done with the dinner dishes. They keep the call short - out of consideration for his dad's phone bill - and only talk about light, inconsequential things - because this is Crabapple Cove and there's at least one nosy Nelly listening in on the call. But it's nice to hear Trapper's voice. To know that he has a home to go back to tomorrow, even if he doesn't have one here anymore. And while he ends the call with a simple "Goodnight, Trap," his dad must hear something of the warmth and love Hawkeye puts into those two words.

Because as soon as Hawkeye hangs up the phone, his dad says, "You're not coming back here, are you? You've found somewhere else to be."

Hawkeye nods tiredly. Already exhausted by the conversation to come.

His dad's face goes blank, impassive. And here comes the guilt and recrimination and anger. But instead of the first volley of an argument, he says, "I'm so sorry, Ben. I love you. And I never meant to push you into something you didn't want."

"I did want it, Dad. I wanted it so bad it hurt, all the time I was in Korea. But I realized that the person I'd have to become to make it work wasn't someone I could be. I've lost the innocence and. And the sense of peace I'd need to live here and not go crazy." Again. "I've got friends and work and a life in Boston that I can't. That I don't want to leave."

"This life include that Trapper John fellow, the one you live with?"

Hawkeye nods. His dad always was quick on the uptake.

"He came up for your funeral, you know. When the army declared you dead. I appreciated having him here." He pauses. "And I wouldn't mind if you brought him along next time."

Hawkeye smiles. His dad really is trying. And he can accept that olive branch. "He did talk about bringing his daughters up to visit back when I was still planning to live here."

His dad looks up sharply. "He married?"

"Used to be." Hawkeye's expression turns wry. "Korea changed him too."

"Well, it'd be nice to have some kids running around the place again. Even if it's not permanent."

A pause.

"And you'll have to tell me if you know anyone looking to take over a family practice who doesn't mind living all the way out here."

"Sure, Dad. I'll ask around."

A contemplative silence falls. And the kitchen, the house, the whole town is starting to feel a lot less stifling. Hawkeye thinks he might even be able to sleep easy tonight.

* * *

Hawkeye goes home the next day. But as his dad hugs him one last time at the train station - and admonishes him to call with details of his next visit - Hawkeye feels like he has a home in Maine too. And maybe he can't live here permanently, but he's still welcome. He doesn't have to lose any part of himself, doesn't have to contort himself to fit the mold of expectation.

It's still a relief to be back in Boston, though. Away from the busybodies and unwanted advances. Back with Trapper.

Home.


	8. Chapter 8

Trapper and Hawkeye do end up going out for drinks with Winchester again. And as funny as it would have been to take him to some shitty dive - to watch him squirm uncomfortably, surrounded by mill workers and longshoremen who hold him as deep in contempt as he holds them - Trapper doesn't do it. Winchester is Hawkeye's friend, and that means something. Plus, he gets to have the moral high ground by taking Winchester somewhere decent. So they go to the nice little neighborhood bar he and Hawkeye frequent. And Hawkeye even manages to finagle the use of the private back room somehow.

So they tell stories and talk shop and joke around. Winchester has a dry, sarcastic sense of humor that meshes well with Trapper's own - when it's not being turned against "the unwashed masses," that is. But they have a nice time mocking the various stuffed shirts on the hospital board. And Hawkeye's heard from BJ and Margaret and shares funny stories of how they're settling in to life stateside. All in all, it's an enjoyable time. Trapper'd do it again.

And then Hawkeye breaks out the deck of cards. The poker game is a friendly one - they're literally playing for peanuts - but it still manages to be cutthroat. Winchester isn't one to back down from a challenge - perceived or real - so he's easy to goad. And Trapper and Hawkeye have known each other for forever, it feels like. They know how to read one another. And they've run a table before, back when Henry Blake was skint and offering twenty-four hour passes as collateral. They'd had a very nice weekend in Seoul off the back of that game. So they run Winchester into the ground. But he's a good sport about it - well, if angry promises of retribution can be called being a good sport. He's at least still talking to them afterwards.

It becomes kinda a regular thing, the poker game. The bar's happy enough to let them use the room every other Thursday - even though Trapper's not a heavy drinker anymore and Hawkeye's still sticking to Shirley Temples. Trapper wonders what exactly Hawkeye promised in exchange. But he's not missing any family heirlooms or internal organs, so it's probably fine. At least Winchester has come around on the merits of Irish whiskey and he ups their tab significantly with top shelf hooch.

Other players get slowly added to the game. Trapper invites Dr. Westham, who'd been stationed in Tokyo before Winchester's time but they still know - and despise - a lot of the same people. Hawkeye brings along Nurse Freeman from the clinic and she has the poker face of an Egyptian statue and the card counting skills of a mob professional. And she'd been at a field hospital at the tail end of WWII so she has her own stories of the Pacific theater. In all honesty, it's a little like being back in the Swamp at one of their weekly "medical conferences." Although now they're playing to remember the war - or parts of it, anyway - instead of to forget it.

Still, it seems natural to walk in one evening and see Sidney Freedman sitting there at the table. Trapper half expects Sam Pak to pop out from somewhere.

Hawkeye's following close behind and Trapper hears his breath catch on seeing Sidney. But when he exclaims, "Sidney! What are you doing here?" he sounds joyous, not anxious.

"Hello, boys." Sidney gets up and they shake hands warmly. "Dr. Winchester has stayed in touch and when he mentioned your little bi-weekly poker game, I figured I'd take a vacation."

Hawkeye's surprised it was Charles who stayed in touch with Sidney. He was very clear in his disdain for psychiatrists. But mostly, Hawkeye's just glad Sidney's not here for _him_. Because sure, he's still messed up by everything he went through. They all are or they never would have formed this little card club - this place where they can talk about what they'd seen and done during the war - talk and be understood. But he's not _lost_ the way he was at the end of the war. He's found a purpose and a life and a self. A new balance of normalcy. But he doesn't want to think about all that right now. Like Sidney, he's just here for a poker game.

And the game is fun, the banter witty. Even though Hawkeye can practically see Sidney whip out a mental notepad when he mentions the clinic or child patients or anything that brushes close to his previous trauma. But he's been friends with Sidney for a long time and knows that's just who he is. He can no more turn off his assessment of the psychological than Hawkeye can his assessment of the medical. So when the game winds down and after a brief, nonverbal conversation with Trapper - one that Sidney also makes mental notes about - Hawkeye invites him to stay over at their house instead of finding a motel or taking a very late train back to New York. And Sidney accepts.

Hawkeye's pretty sure Sidney had Trapper and him figured out way back in Korea. And he never said anything then, so Hawkeye's not too wary about directing him to the guest room while he and Trapper get ready for bed pretty much as normal. They do maybe tone down the kissing a little. Just a little, though. All Sidney does is smile an enigmatic smile and wish them good night.

* * *

Sidney's still at the house when Trapper comes home from work. And they'd told him to make himself at home. So he just asks Sidney if he's ok with lamb and green beans and baked potatoes for dinner - and if there's anything he can do to make things a little closer to Kosher.

"I made it through three years of army food," Sidney replies, deadpan. "I'm sure whatever you make will be fine."

"I don't know if I should be insulted or not," Trapper jokes.

"Insulted. Always." Hawkeye must have caught the tail end of their conversation there, coming through the front door. "Sidney's like Father Mulcahy. Behind that innocent face is enough snark to level a city."

Hawkeye's clearly in a cheerful mood.

"Good day at the office, dear?" Trapper asks.

"Yep! It was just a lot of preventative stuff, routine checkups. I think the biggest injury I saw all day was the paper cut I got filling out order forms. You?"

Trapper shrugs into the beans he's washing. "Couple broken bones and an exploded spleen. Plus the usual bellyaching from Dobbs. How bout you, Sidney? I came home and the living room had been re-carpeted in your notes."

Sidney sighs. "I haven't been completely honest with you two. I've been asked to write a paper on my methods of treating battle fatigue at the front during the Korean war."

"Hence your trip to our little 4077 outpost." Hawkeye's expression has closed off.

"A working vacation." Trapper's own tone is caustic.

"I'm not here to make notes on any of you," Sidney is quick to reassure. "But I think it will be. Helpful. To my own mental state to be back among you all. The 4077 was always how I gauged my own sanity. And writing about Korea has brought those days back in a way I didn't quite expect."

Trapper looks to Hawkeye for direction. He'll remove Sidney bodily from their home if Hawk wants. Hawkeye looks back, gaze level, and they come to a consensus.

"Well, I can't claim that either of us are any saner than we were in Korea, but you're welcome to stay for a while. And if you have any questions for me, you can just ask." Hawkeye gives a wry smile. "I can't guarantee I'll have any answers, though."

They all relax a little.

"Thank you. Both for letting me stay in your home and for offering to let me take a peek under the hood. But for now, is there anything I can do to help with dinner?"

So the rest of the evening passes and they don't talk about anything more serious than the world series.

* * *

Hawkeye had been. Cautious. About having Sidney stay for longer than a night. But he's a considerate house guest. Helpful around the house and not a stifling presence. He even spends an evening with Charles so that Hawkeye and Trapper can have some time to themselves - and his sacrifice is _very_ appreciated. But Hawkeye's been holding his breath, waiting for Sidney to start in on the surely lengthy list of questions he's saved up. So he's not surprised when Sidney sits down across from him at the kitchen table and asks if they can talk.

He _is_ surprised when Sidney opens with, "So what do you remember about Steve Newsome?"

"Uh," Hawkeye has to think a bit. "He was a good surgeon. He'd been in some of the really heavy stuff early on but ended up transferred to Tokyo. The 4077 called him up as a temporary replacement and he was great in OR the first shift. But somewhere in the second batch of wounded, he just... got lost. Couldn't make a decision on whether to amputate or not. And then he just. Walked out of the operating room. BJ and I tracked him down and he was just sitting there on the ground. Face blank. And when we got him to talk, he just kept saying he couldn't get the blood off his hands. His clean hands. That's when Potter had you called in. Also, I think he was from Chicago."

Sidney's taking notes in a real, actual notebook so hopefully something in the little Hawkeye remembers is helpful.

"Do you know what triggered his difficulties in OR? Something about the patient?"

Hawkeye struggles to remember. "No, I don't think so. He wasn't like me where it was one single thing that reminded him of another single thing. I think he just. It was too much. Everything he'd seen and done in the past was layered over everything he was seeing and doing in our OR. He couldn't stand up under that weight." It makes Hawkeye wonder what would happen to any of them if they got shoved into another MASH in another, future war. He hopes they'll never have to find out.

Sidney nods and makes more notes.

"Can I ask why you're asking me about Newsome? Didn't you treat him in Tokyo?" Surely Sidney knows more about the man than anyone from the 4077.

Sidney sighs. "While I was the one to come collect him and I did an initial intake interview, he was moved to another psychiatrist for treatment. My caseload was too heavy to spend much time thinking about him. But now that the war is over and I've been asked to provide this paper, I find myself wanting to tie up loose ends." He pauses. "Unfortunately, there's as much infighting and posturing in psychiatry as there is in surgery. The doctor who treated Steve Newsome feels he's been spurned by the American Psychiatric Association and so refuses to offer any assistance."

Hawkeye groans. "Why even go into medicine if you care more about your ego than your patients?"

Sidney laughs. "Why indeed? Sadly, psychiatry can tell us nothing other than sometimes, people are assholes."

* * *

Sidney Freedman departs for Chicago a few days later. And Hawkeye is slightly surprised that he's sad to see him go. He'd had mixed feelings about the man after his stint in the Tokyo funny farm. But it seems like they'll be able to be friends again as civilians.

So Hawkeye supplements his handshake with a genuine, "Hope to see you again soon, Sidney."

And Trapper adds, "Yeah, you're always welcome at the poker game - as long as you keep losing." His grin is teasing, protective edge gone along with Hawkeye's reservations.

"Thanks, boys. I'll be in touch."

With a jaunty wave, Sidney boards the greyhound - headed for Chicago, Steve Newsome, and parts unknown.


	9. Chapter 9

Their little corner of Boston has become something of a way station for various East Coast members of the 4077. And perhaps it makes sense - Hawkeye Pierce, degenerate though he is, has always been the heart and soul of the MASH. Even as changed as he'd been at the end of the war, he'd spent every breath taking care of the people there. Charles had been so wrapped up in his own petty little problems - his appointment at Boston Mercy, his squabbles with Margaret - that he hadn't really appreciated it at the time. But now, with the clarity of distance - and the help of, ugh, a psychiatrist - he can admit to himself - if no one else - that Pierce is a large part of why he came out of the war as _well adjusted_ as he had.

Pierce is also why he's able to return to civilian life so easily. For all that Charles has been raised - been bred with the very fortitude and inclination required - to head a prestigious department at _the_ preeminent hospital in the United States - if not the world - it has been a.. transition.. to return to his old life. Honoria is just as sweet and wonderful and _mischievous_ as ever - and Charles makes a note that she and Pierce must never meet, lest society as he knows it crumble - but mother and father are perhaps more aloof and distant than he remembers. Concerned more with how he goes on to represent the family - as he is now several years behind schedule in running thoracic at Boston Mercy and, more importantly, at finding a suitable Mrs. Charles Emerson Winchester III and providing the requisite Charles Emerson Winchester IV - than with how he, Charles, is faring. He finds himself missing the camaraderie of the MASH unit - as stifling as it had been at the time. But now that much of his social obligation requires talking politics with the interminable stuffed shirts at his club or dancing with icy, calculating debutantes - stiffly formal beneath a veneer of feminine charm, sizing Charles, and more importantly, the Winchester fortune, up against their ambitions - Charles finds himself living for the evenings of raucous, lower-class fun with the other remnants of the Korean war.

Even that lout McIntyre.

Because, despite all his _deficiencies_ , he's a good surgeon - and an Ivy Leaguer, even if he schooled in the wilds of New Hampshire rather than the beacon of civilization that is Boston. He, Charles has found, also has a surprisingly sly sense of humor hidden behind that bluff, working-man exterior. He helps balance out Pierce's more.. fanciful nature. And living with McIntyre seems to be doing Pierce a world of good. He's back to telling jokes and stories at a mile a minute, but he also listens to other people's stories for more than just material with which to make a snappy retort. Pierce is also missing the desperate, manic edge he'd acquired towards the end of the war. He's more stable, more settled in his skin with McIntyre's hand clapped on his shoulder.

All of this makes Charles wish he had someone in his life who could understand him so well as Pierce and McIntyre seem to understand each other - bound as they are by a brotherhood forged in war. Charles wishes for someone who could stand as his equal - know him and be known. He feels so distant from the class of people he left behind. In the face of war, why worry about petty posturing - particularly when he is so obviously superior to the rest of the muck and mud surrounding him. But here, presentation is all that matters. The facade becomes the foundation for one's entire existence. And there are tens of others with the same - or at least similar - breeding and wealth and status. How is he to find someone who is both suitable to his family and satisfactory to himself? It makes Charles long for the hours he spends at that quaint little pub with the other flotsam and jetsam of Korea. And it makes him a bit.. jealous - there he admits it - when Margaret comes to visit and she deigns to stay with those degenerates Pierce and McIntyre rather than in the well-appointed guest wing of his home in Back Bay.

* * *

Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan is coming to visit and Trapper is worried. Both for the state of his jaw - Margaret has a right hook like a freight train and an inclination to use it - and for his opinion of himself. Cuz, see, he's done and said a lot of shitty things to Margaret Houlihan. Largely as a consequence of doing and saying them to Frank Burns. But he can admit now that a lot of what he and Hawkeye ragged on her for had more to do with her being an attractive woman who wouldn't sleep with them than her actual despicable beliefs and actions. Which have apparently got a lot less despicable in the years without Frank's influence. But Hawkeye's had those years to stumble into a genuine friendship with Margaret and all Trapper has is over a year's worth of enmity with Hot Lips. So he gets ready to grovel.

And it's a good thing, too. Cuz he comes home to Hawkeye and Margaret crying with laughter over something and as soon as he closes the front door, they just stop dead. Silent. Margaret's gaze pierces him to his very soul. But this means a lot, to him and Hawkeye both. So Trapper holds out a hand.

"John McIntyre, pleased to meet you."

Margaret's face is stone and Trapper prepares to hightail it outta there. But then she smiles and shakes his hand.

"Margaret Houlihan. And likewise."

"I know this don't erase the past," Trapper says once they've all sat down in the living room. "But I figure I've changed a fair bit over the years and I'm sorry for how I used to treat you. I hope we can get to know each other how we are now."

Margaret considers this. And Trapper ain't ashamed to admit he squirms a little under her assessing gaze. After what feels like an eternity, she must figure he's genuinely repentant cuz she says, "Apology accepted." And that's the end of that.

Later, they're all crammed together on the sofa after dinner, Hawkeye knitting and Trapper and Margaret drinking some of the good Scotch she brought along as a hostess gift. Margaret's telling all about the work she's doing at Fort Dix - it sounds like she's pretty much running the nursing staff already and like it won't be too long before she's got the whole hospital marching to her orders. It's fun. He wouldn't say they're friends yet, but Trapper thinks they could be.

Then Hawkeye asks, "So has any dashing Lieutenant Colonel or better caught your eye?" And Trapper is reminded of Margaret's own failed marriage to some dick who ran off to San Francisco rather than end things face to face. He's glad he was able to patch things up so well cuz Margaret's angry retribution is still clearly at the front of all their minds.

Margaret's smile is sharp. "No new Donald Penobscotts, no. Not that I haven't had a few flings here or there."

"Does a body good," is Hawkeye's two cents. "Not that I've had a lot of those lately." He glances meaningfully at Trapper.

And Trapper's a little confused at how _overt_ he's being around Margaret Houlihan, of all people.

But then she says, "I've actually gotten back in touch with an old nursing school friend - she was nice enough to offer to be roommates so I wouldn't have to live on base."

And oh. _Oh_. He looks at Hawkeye to make sure he's reading this right.

"It's sure nice to settle down someplace after so long in an army camp," Trapper says. There. That can be taken all kindsa ways.

"I never thought it would happen to me. But I'm actually thinking of buying a house, if you can believe it. I have all that money I'd saved up for Penobscott," Margaret sneers his name. "And with two working women to pay the mortgage..."

"A Boston marriage," Trapper blurts, struck by the aptness. So much for subtlety.

Hawkeye laughs. "A Boston marriage transplanted right in Jersey. Is that why you came up to visit? To get some tips?" He's teasing but the idea that it's out in the open now. That they don't have to pussy foot around it anymore. That they share this thread of commonality. It's nice.

"I just came for the poker game, same as everyone else. But it's nice to catch up in person. Letters just can't say as much." Margaret smiles warmly. And it's not an expression Trapper's ever seen her wear, but it's a nice one.

And he's got all day Thursday to see it again. To get to know this new Margaret Houlihan.

* * *

Charles is.. miffed. It's poker night and he has two unwanted hangers-on in the form of old school _chums_ \- he sneers the word, even internally - who demanded his presence that evening. And when Charles had begged previous social obligations, they'd simply invited themselves along. Despite their breeding, some people simply have no class.

So now the two _gentlemen_ are staring around the pub with twin looks of undisguised contempt. Completely unwarranted as, while the place is small and humble and full of working-class folk, it's clean and comfortable and homey. And after one has spent years in a flea-infested pit, one learns to appreciate that sort of thing.

Things get even worse when Charles chivvies them into the back room and they are confronted with Pierce, McIntyre, Houlihan, and Nurse Freeman. While none of them are the sort a Winchester usually associates with, they're all fine individuals and competent medical professionals, deserving of recognition and respect. Certainly not targets for the insipid sneering of Hampton and Smythe, who are asking if this is really how Charles spends his evenings.

McIntyre gets a look on his face that spells _trouble_. It's the look he wears when he goes toe to toe with Charles - and occasionally, Westham. The look he wears right before turning the natural order right on its head. And Pierce will follow him to the ends of the earth, especially in righteous vengeance. And Margaret has never been one to be condescended to. So Charles directs his two social albatross to the table in the vain hope that any carnage will be relegated to the cards.

"Now, we usually play a friendly sorta game," McIntyre starts the opening volley.

"But with two such distinguished gentlemen in our midst," Pierce continues, "surely we can't just play for peanuts."

Nurse Freeman starts shuffling the deck and Charles has never seen her look so regal. "I stand as the house tonight. Five card stud. One hundred dollar buy in." Her smile is like a knife. "All non-cash collateral must be verifiable and accepted by all players."

His fate is sealed. Charles wants to weep. They are absolutely going to run him and these socially inept simpletons into the ground. He looks to Margaret for compassion, but finds none. She always was the vengeful type. Charles only hopes that his friendship with those about to ruin his life stays their hands enough that he can still leave with the shirt on his back.

The game is absolutely brutal. Margaret, Pierce, and McIntyre aren't exactly winning pocket change, but the house - the house is what will drive him to financial ruin. And the entire nature of the game has changed. No one of the four is playing to win. They're playing to make Charles and his two idiot companions lose. The two idiots who are too stupid to realize what is happening and bow out.

Although, the amount they're drinking may have something to do with it. Before the game had properly started, McIntyre brought out a bottle. And while he, Margaret, and Nurse Freeman all have a glass - they're untouched. The three of them, plus Pierce, are sober as judges while Hampton and Smythe are acting like it's their last chance at revelry before entering the priesthood. The game is an unmitigated bloodbath.

By nine o'clock, Charles and the other two victims have moved from cash to physical collateral.

By ten o'clock, the pot has grown so large that they've moved to paper IOU's.

And, in what - mercifully - turns out to be the final hand, the house actually forms a board of trustees - consisting of herself and Pierce - to accept the endowment promised by Charles, Hampton, and Smythe in a legally binding document - written on a napkin, but still properly signed by all parties and witnessed by a gleeful McIntyre - made out to the South End clinic. At this point, thank God, Hampton and Smythe seem to realize they've made a terrible mistake and agree to end the game, sneaking off with their tails between their legs. Nurse Freeman watches them go with an expression of utmost satisfaction.

Still, it could have been worse. The Winchesters do only occasionally engage in philanthropy - usually as a.. creative tax write off - but it's for a good cause. And Pierce looks overjoyed as he kisses his compatriots on the cheeks - McIntyre slightly awkwardly, as if they're not quite sure where to aim, but then McIntyre isn't exactly a cosmopolitan - he's probably never even _been_ to Europe. Then Pierce rounds on Charles. But he just shakes his hand exuberantly - like he's pumping water from a well - and thanks him for his contributions to medicine and the public good. It almost feels sincere.

"Don't look so glum, Winchester," McIntyre admonishes. "You can tell your folks you did it to keep the riff-raff outta Boston Mercy."

Charles laughs despite himself. "You know, that may very well work. And at least I know those two bumbling buffoons will never impose themselves on me again."

"I'll drink to that," Pierce says, raising his Shirley Temple.

And then it becomes just like their normal poker nights - with the welcome addition of Margaret, of course, who seems in exceptionally good spirits despite having resided with Pierce and McIntyre for an entire day. It's a night of silliness and witty - or not so witty - banter and camaraderie.

Charles really feels quite fortunate, despite everything.


	10. Chapter 10

It's almost the end of November by the time Hawkeye goes up to visit his dad again. He didn't mean to take so long, but things have gotten very busy at the clinic lately. Apparently, being on the board of trustees for a not insignificant endowment is a lot of work. Hawkeye's never been particularly inclined towards administration - and his grasp of financials is a bit rusty after three years in Korea where he had no real expenses but booze and gambling. And Father Mulcahy's orphans fund - but those contributions were usually made at the poker table anyway.

But the clinic is _important_. He and Letta - goddess of poetic justice and practicality that she is - can do a lot of good for a lot of people with this money. So he'd buckled down and signed endless reams of legal documents that Charles hadn't even really tried to screw them over on. And that alone says something about how much he'd changed over the years in Korea because Hampton and Smythe gape incredulously at any tiny show of human decency in the man.

Finally, finally, the last document is signed - they'd framed and hung the original napkin in the clinic staff room - and Hawkeye can go back to spending his evenings and weekends at home instead of at banks and lawyers' offices. And he can take a weekend to go visit his dad.

Trapper and the girls are coming too, which has Hawkeye feeling both excited and anxious. All his family will be together in one place. He wants them to all like one another so badly it's eating him up at night. He doesn't sleep much that whole week.

But when the girls show up Friday night - all huge grins and excited speculation about the exotic wonders of northern Maine and whether they'd get to go to the beach - Hawkeye relaxes. Judging by the amount of planning and preparation Louise and Trapper have put into this endeavor, they would stand a fair chance on an expedition to the moon. Hell, he and Trapper have been through an entire war that had less well thought out logistics. Hawkeye votes Louise gets put in charge of the next one as it will insure all combatants have plenty of wool socks and know how to share their toys.

In all honesty, Hawkeye thought he might feel jealous watching Trapper and Louise interact. Or feel awkward interacting with her himself. He _is_ the other woman after all, even if Louise doesn't know. But she and Trapper seem to have fallen into an amicable enough relationship post-divorce - even if it's centered around Cathy and Becky. And she chats politely enough with Hawkeye. Though the conversation doubles as an interrogation of him, his father, Crabapple Cove, and the entire state of Maine. But she does leave the kids with them, so he must not have made too bad of an impression.

* * *

It's nice to see Hawkeye's dad again - and under better circumstances than his last visit. Daniel Pierce seems equally glad to see Trapper - which is a little bit of a surprise given that Hawkeye said he knows about the two of them - and he welcomes Trapper with a warm handshake. Cathy and Becky get handshakes as well and they manage to stay still through the social niceties but it's not long before they tear off to go look at and ask about a million little things around the Pierce homestead. Daniel takes it is stride - and Trapper can see how Hawkeye grew up into the curious, passionate, slightly wild man he became - just laughing and saying he'll keep the girls out of trouble while Trapper and Hawkeye get the luggage stowed away. And that's a distinct benefit of Daniel being in the know - he and Hawk are sharing the guest room rather than one of them being forced to take the couch to preserve some kinda facade of propriety or masculinity or distaste at the idea of sleeping - even platonically - with another man.

That's something Trapper had appreciated about Korea. Everyone was so cold and tired and scared and worried and homesick that they all kinda clung to one another. You could be more physically close with people cuz they all needed that reassurance that there was another warm, breathing, _alive_ person right there with them. It's probably why he and Hawk got away with so much. They weren't always exactly subtle but people were willing to write it off as just a close friendship - just them clinging together to stay sane, same as lots of people did.

And Trapper's always been a touchy-feely kinda guy, surprising as that might be to some people. He grew up in a big family in a crowded apartment building full of other big families. Kids in the neighborhood were always roughhousing together or sitting all crammed together to read a comic book or sleeping in a bed with two brothers and a cousin cuz that's all the room there was when family came to visit. And then Trapper started playing sports and that closeness continued into the locker rooms and team practices. Hell, that was the whole reason he'd started boxing again. That physical intimacy - even if it wasn't inherently sexual - was something he needed.

That's not to say there hadn't been physical intimacy of a sexual nature. Trapper grew up close enough to the South End to run into that kinda thing. And some of the guys on the football team or in the boxing club had been that way too. As had a guy he'd taken anatomy with - and boy had they had a lot of extra curricular study sessions that semester. And he and Hawkeye had gotten each others' numbers pretty much right away in Korea.

But Trapper had married Louise. And he can't bring himself to regret it for an instant cuz it gave him Becky and Cathy. But Louise was so different from him - she dressed classy and she talked educated and she grew up in a neighborhood of houses instead of tenement blocks, a neighborhood where kids didn't grow up all crammed together and crawling all over each other like a litter of puppies. She expected to be courted and held at arms length a little. Not brought into contact with the rough and unpolished and visceral depth of his feelings for her.

At first, he'd liked that about her. She was everything he wasn't in terms of grace and class and money. A kinda representation of the life he was trying to live by going to a prestigious school and studying to be a surgeon. And she was smart and funny and beautiful and a great lay. What more could a guy ask for?

A whole hell of a lot, as it turns out. Cuz Hawkeye's all those things and more. Warm and caring and with a burning need to fight against death and injustice and even just plain old stupidity - and there sure is a lot of that lately. He doesn't care about conformity, doesn't try to pretend he's anyone other than who he is. And that makes it easier for Trapper to be who he is too. He can show Hawkeye the raw, unpolished, unpretty parts of himself - of his love for Hawkeye - and know that Hawk won't turn away.

With Hawkeye, it feels like it's ok for Trapper to live the life he wants, not the life he and everyone else is supposed to want. The life he used to try so hard to live.

Hawkeye nudges his shoulder gently and Trapper realizes he's been staring at the bottom of his empty suitcase for far too long. So he puts the past away and goes outside to his girls. To live the life he has now.

* * *

Becky and Cathy manage to talk them into going to the beach despite the weather not exactly being summery. Late November in Maine is pretty much the middle of winter and it's been known to snow as early as Halloween. But they hadn't been dissuaded by any logical argument, so they all troop down the road to the public beach. Hawkeye hasn't been to a beach since the fourth of July. And he honestly wasn't sure how it would go, especially with kids. But Maine is different enough from Korea - the foot of snow definitely helps - that he doesn't lose himself in the past at all. Maybe he'll be able to come up in the summer, even. Becky and Cathy have repeatedly expressed their desire to go swimming - even though they're currently wearing parkas and boots and about a sheep's worth of winter woolens each.

But despite not being allowed in the water, the girls have fun rushing between the rocks and tidepools while the adults follow along at a more sedate pace. Becky especially enjoys pointing out all the strange creatures living in the tidepools - and Hawkeye enjoys making up fanciful and completely false stories about them while his dad laughs and Trapper rolls his eyes in good-natured exasperation. Cathy has chosen instead to climb up on the biggest rocks she can find and then leap off them - triumphant - into Trapper's waiting arms. It's a good thing he's been hitting the gym so that he can withstand the force of gravity plus one six-year-old human cannonball.

Eventually, the girls get tired of the beach and it nears dinner time, so they head home in a straggling clump. Cathy's thrown over Trapper's shoulders like a wriggling, giggling sack of potatoes and Becky - damp and salt flecked - bounces between Hawkeye and his dad like a pinball. Hawkeye wonders how the hell his dad did this whole parenting thing all by himself all the time. Because Trapper may have two daughters but they're practically sedate in comparison to how Hawkeye had been at their respective ages. Maybe it explains all the summers he spent in New York with his aunts and uncles.

* * *

Dinner's great. They're doing a kinda belated Thanksgiving thing with turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce and pie - and it's all delicious. Thanksgiving was never really a big thing in the McIntyre house growing up - it just meant his ma had a lot more work the week before cuz everyone wanted their houses extra clean to impress visiting family - but Hawkeye'd grown up a lot more Norman Rockwell than Trapper had. But the whole thing's relaxed - nothing like the strained, formal dinners with Louise's family - and they spend as much time joking around as eating. It's nice.

And after dinner, they all go into town to look at the Christmas decorations that apparently go up around Crabapple Cove the Friday after Thanksgiving every year like clockwork. This is another Pierce family tradition, another glimpse into Hawkeye's life as a kid. It makes Trapper feel all warm inside that Daniel and Hawkeye are willing to share this with him and his kids. And the girls are clearly having a great time looking at all the lights and window displays - Trapper is sure they'll have lists for Santa half finished by the end of the night - and the big Maine pine decked out with lights and ornaments in the town square. It's fun to experience that sorta small-town celebration that Trapper's never seen outside of movies.

What's less fun is all the people who mob Hawkeye. Old ladies asking why he's been away so long and practically pinching his cheeks. Young women - at least some of whom Hawk'd clearly dated in the past - looking to get to know him again. And Trapper's not really a jealous kinda guy. He and Hawkeye have had their share of other relationships - even while they were sleeping together in Korea. Trapper wouldn't begrudge him a little flirting, wouldn't begrudge him finding another bed for the night, even. But he sure ain't mad when Hawkeye presses a little closer into his side and turns them all down. He does it kindly and with a sense of humor - the girls depart without any ruffled feathers - but Hawkeye makes it plain he ain't on the market anymore. And the sideways glances, the quick brush of their gloved hands, makes it clear to Trapper - if no one else - exactly why that is.

Finally, the girls are all wore out - Trapper has to carry Becky back to the Pierce house, half asleep already - and Hawk stays pressed close the whole way back. He's practically glued to Trapper's side all through getting the girls to bed - with minimal protesting for once, they're dead tired after such an exciting day. And he stays glued to Trapper all through their own getting ready for bed. Sure, Hawkeye's a cuddly guy - but they don't usually brush their teeth standing so close that Trapper almost elbows him in the face a couple times. But Hawk'll talk about it when he's ready so all Trapper does is whisper goodnight and hold him close as they lie in bed.

* * *

It's strange. He's been living with Trapper for months now - together in every way they could possibly be. Hawkeye's also spent time with Becky and Cathy - everything from helping them with homework to helping Trapper tuck them into bed. He's remained Uncle Hawkeye to the girls. They're family. But it's never felt quite so real, quite so true as it has today.

Maybe it's the holidays. Thanksgiving is for family and even though theirs had been belated, they'd still had it - with _all_ of Hawkeye's family. Maybe it's his dad being there. His easy acceptance of Trapper and the girls into his home, his life, his family. Maybe it's all of those things. But as Hawkeye had walked through Crabapple Cove that evening - watched all the families out together - it had really hit him that he has that too.

Maybe not the way he expected to. Maybe not in a way that would be recognizable to others. But he has it all the same. And he didn't - doesn't - want that feeling of warmth and family and belonging to go away. So he's stayed pressed into Trapper's side, even if it got to be a little silly or inconvenient. And Trapper - easygoing and accepting of all of Hawkeye's strangeness - has taken this too in stride. Sheltering Hawkeye under his arm from all the old busybodies and young paramours. Holding him now as they lay here in bed. Not pressing Hawkeye to do or be or talk about anything. Content to just be.

God, Hawkeye loves him so much.

"I love you, Trap," he breathes into Trapper's chest, not sure how he'll react to that sort of declaration from him.

Trapper shifts around a little so that he can look at Hawkeye. And his eyes are so full of warmth.

"I love you too, Hawk." Said like it's a fundamental truth of the universe, an immutable fact of life. Said like he's been saying it everyday for months.

Hawkeye thinks back to all the touches, all the closeness, all the understanding they've shared over those months and thinks maybe he's been saying it too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated explicit and contains light BDSM and orgasm delay/denial. If this isn't your cup of tea, the chapter is PWP so you can skip it without missing any of the story.

Trapper gets home around midnight after a back to back to back shift at the hospital. Winters in the ER are always busy and this week has been particularly brutal. He's about ready to fall asleep fully dressed on the first horizontal surface he comes across - preferably the sofa so he doesn't have to climb stairs or disturb Hawkeye.

But when he stumbles into the living room, he sees Hawkeye's already sleeping there. He'd obviously tried to wait up for Trapper cuz he's wearing Trapper's black silk robe - the one he got in Korea - and it's what Hawkeye puts on when he wants to do something _nice_ for Trapper. It's hanging off one shoulder and the way Hawk's laying, he's got about a mile of leg exposed and Trapper wants to mark the pale flesh with his teeth.

But Hawkeye's sleeping so peacefully. So Trapper just lifts him carefully into his arms - and Hawkeye's filled out a little since he got home but he's still light enough that it's easy. And when he snuggles further into Trapper's chest, still asleep, he thinks he could hold Hawk like this forever. Carrying him into the bedroom like a bride across the threshold and laying him gently in bed is good too.

Trapper's now awake enough to brush his teeth and strip to his skivvies before getting into bed. And he figures Hawkeye will probably be more comfortable without the robe. So he undoes the belt - and Hawkeye isn't wearing anything underneath.

His gorgeous cock is laying rosy and half hard between the edges of black silk. And Hawkeye's blinking sleepily up at Trapper through long, long lashes. And it shows how dead tired Trapper is, cuz that provokes absolutely no reaction below the belt.

"Welcome home, Trap," Hawkeye purrs as he reaches for Trapper's dick.

"Not tonight, honey." Trapper gently moves his hands away. "I'm no use to you right now. But I can take care of you." He reaches out.

"Nah. I'll wait." And Hawkeye says it casually but there's an undercurrent of _something_ that Trapper isn't awake enough to decipher.

* * *

Trapper and Hawkeye don't see each other for much more than meals over the next few days due to offset work schedules and various shift-extending emergencies. And Trapper's been so wrapped up in work, he hasn't really had the time or inclination to jack off. But he's sorta obliquely figured - just kinda in the back of his mind - that Hawkeye has been. He's not exactly known for being celibate, after all.

But the first evening they actually have time to spend together makes Trapper think he may have been wrong. Hawkeye's acting about as worked up as Trapper's ever seen him. Squirming and panting and blushing like a fucking virgin just from Trapper kissing on him a little. It's really, really hot to see him so desperate. Trapper hadn't gone into this with anything in mind other than just making out a little but now he wants to see Hawkeye fall apart - whining and writhing on Trappers lap, out of his mind with pleasure.

But when he reaches for Hawkeye's dick - and he's so, so hard it's gotta _hurt_ \- Hawkeye whines and pushes him away.

"Nooo, Trap." Hawkeye pauses to pant a little. "Not yet. It feels.. I don't wanna... It feels too good." He peters out into another whine.

Trapper struggles to understand. "You mean you don't wanna come?"

Hawkeye nods vigorously, apparently too overcome for speech.

"Ok, Hawk, ok. You don't gotta," Trapper soothes. "Is there something you do want?"

"Just, just hold me. Please!"

Trapper gathers Hawkeye against his chest. "Ok, Hawk, I got you."

Hawkeye's got his face tucked into the join of Trapper's shoulder and he's still making muffled whimpering noises and his hips shift in restless little circles. Trapper rubs his back soothingly - for he doesn't know how long - until Hawkeye slumps bonelessly against his chest. And Hawkeye still hasn't come - is still hard, although that's waning - but the blind desperation has been replaced with a sort of sleepy contentment. So they stay like that a little longer and then head up to bed together. But Trapper's determined to _talk_ about this.

* * *

Trapper's resolve is doubled when Hawkeye wakes up visibly hard and then doesn't do anything about it other than whine and paw at his tits a little.

"You got a reason you don't wanna actually get off?" Trapper asks at breakfast.

Hawkeye shrugs. "I just like how it feels."

He feels every sensation so sharply right at the edge of orgasm. He spent so long - three years - getting off as quickly and quietly as possible, it feels like a luxury to be able to really draw it out. And there's something hot about being turned into such a desperate, begging mess and then being denied release. Hawkeye realizes he wants to keep going. Maybe even have Trapper...

"Is this something you wanna keep doing?" Hawkeye swears sometimes that man can read his mind.

"Yeah," he breathes out. "But, uh, you might have to help me." Hawkeye blushes.

"What, like make you keep your hands off your dick?"

And Hawkeye gets a sudden, blindingly hot image of Trapper smacking his hands away from his aching cock and maybe grabbing his wrists in his big, strong hands and holding them up above Hawkeye's head so that he can't touch himself. Hawkeye whimpers.

"I guess you like that idea." Trapper looks plenty interested himself.

Hawkeye nods vigorously.

"How long do you wanna keep this up? A day? The rest of the week?"

That's only three more days. That seems doable. There's a hot coil of want twisting in Hawkeye's belly.

"The rest of the week. Please, Trap."

Trapper nods consideringly. "This something you want me to do too?"

Hawkeye honestly isn't sure. He hadn't thought about that even being a possibility. This is just him trying to figure something out. But the idea of Trapper coming, maybe even coming all over Hawkeye, when he can't - when he isn't _allowed_ to - is blisteringly hot.

"No, just me. I think. I think I'd like it if you made me watch you get off. And I couldn't. And you wouldn't let me."

Hawkeye's squirming in his seat. And Trapper's looking pretty affected as well - eyes dark, lips bitten red red red.

"Ok, honey." Trapper takes a deep breath. "Ok. We can try that. Just. Just lemme know if it gets to be too much, ok?"

Hawkeye nods and then works to get himself back under control. He still has an entire shift to get through before he can even think about what they're going to do together.

* * *

Trapper comes home from work and it's really hard - hah - to concentrate on dinner when Hawkeye's watching him so intently. His desire is visible. _Visible_ visible. Tent in his pants that can bee seen from across the room visible. And Trapper hasn't done anything more arousing than cook Brussels sprouts.

It's hot - it's really hot - to feel so _desired_. And maybe Trapper's pitching a pretty impressive tent of his own. But unlike Hawkeye, he can do something about it. Hawkeye _wants_ him to do something about it. And while they've jacked off together before - late at night while Frank slept - synchronized even in separate bunks. This. This is different.

This is Trapper watching Hawkeye watch him while Hawk kneads at his clothed erection, getting more and more worked up, until Trapper lays a heavy hand on the back of his neck and says, "No." And Hawkeye shudders like he's gonna come apart right there at the kitchen table. But he doesn't. He holds back.

This is them sitting in the living room after dinner, electric with desire just from sitting next to each other on the couch. Trapper spreads his legs enough his cock stands out obviously from the vee of his thighs as it stiffens. And Hawkeye's practically drooling over it. Hawk's own cock is hard and he has his hands clenched on his thighs to keep from touching it. That thought makes Trapper's dick jerk and he unzips his fly to get a little more room. Just lets his cock stand out naked and hard, a little wet at the tip. Cuz even though Hawkeye doesn't want him to abstain like he is, Trapper's enjoying drawing this out. Likes driving Hawk crazy with anticipation.

This is Trapper stroking himself slowly, so slowly - hand barely more than whispering over his dick - as Hawkeye pants raggedly next to him. This is Hawkeye going to his knees between Trapper's spread thighs, face raised, eyes closed and mouth open, waiting for Trapper to mark him with the release he's being denied. This is the coil of arousal in Trapper's belly that pulls tighter and tighter and tighter and

breaks.

Hawkeye's pushing his messy face into Trapper's thigh, writhing and shaking and pressing against him. Trying to blot out the world, trying to protect himself from the sheer amount of _want_ he's feeling. Trapper runs soothing fingers through Hawkeye's hair as a string of desperate begging falls from his lips - just a series of "please, please, please Trap, please" in time with the jerky thrusts of his hips that won't bring any relief. It's too much. It's not enough. It's perfect.

* * *

Hawkeye doesn't think he's ever been so aroused in his life. Outside of work, he feels like he's in a permanent state of desperation. He has to sit on his hands to keep from touching himself constantly. It's as if every nerve ending is alight, his senses heightened to a fevered pitch. Every look, every glance he and Trapper exchange is full of heat, full of the knowledge that they're playing this little game, full of a sort of sexually charged mischief. And every move Trapper makes is calculated to drive Hawkeye wild. Even the seemingly innocuous, everyday gestures - like Trapper stretching or rolling up his sleeves or putting a hand on Hawkeye's hip as he brushes past - have him about ready to hump the furniture.

But it's not all innocuous.

Trapper comes home from the gym the morning after their little talk. And he wakes Hawkeye just so he can watch as Trapper masturbates. Trapper's sitting up against the headboard - right next to Hawkeye's face - so all he can see is Trapper's hand moving on his big, hard cock, all he can hear is the sound of flesh on slick flesh. It's exactly what he wanted. And when Hawkeye turns away, buries his head in the pillow - so overcome he can't stand it - Trapper fists a hand in his hair, lifts his head, and _makes_ him watch.

The next night, Trapper walks in on Hawkeye humping the mattress - just grinding his aching cock into the delicious friction. He knows it's a stupid thing to do - he's about a second from orgasm - but he'd just been so overcome with need. And once he'd started, Hawkeye couldn't make himself stop. It feels too good. He can't even force his hips to still now that he's been caught out.

Before he can really process what's happening, Trapper has barked out a sharp "No!" crossed the room in two quick strides and grabbed him by the hips. He pulls Hawkeye bodily off the bed, throws him down on his back, and pins his wayward hips to the mattress so he can't rut them against anything.

God. _God_. It takes everything in Hawkeye to not come immediately. He's never been so turned on in his _life_.

He's always loved how big and strong Trapper is, but he's never really thought about being manhandled like that before. Picked up as if he weighs nothing. Held down effortlessly as he writhes desperately. None of Hawkeye's pleas, none of his begging for release makes any difference. Trapper just holds him in place, pressing him down into the mattress - grounding him - until Hawkeye can speak coherent English again.

And then Trapper jacks off all over Hawkeye's chest.

* * *

Finally, the week is over and he has Hawkeye all to himself for the whole night. Trapper can't wait to take him _apart_.

He starts by undressing Hawkeye slowly, piece by piece. No need to rush. They have all the time in the world now.

Trapper lays gentle kisses on each inch of revealed skin, mapping Hawkeye's body with his mouth. Ankle, knee, inside of thigh - carefully avoiding Hawkeye's straining erection - ridge of hip, then wrist, crook of elbow, a line of kisses up his belly to the sternum, the wing of each collar bone. Finally, Trapper reaches his lips and they kiss soft and slow and building.

And Hawkeye is already falling apart in Trapper's arms. Skin flushed, eyes inky black. But Trapper's not done with him yet.

He deepens the kiss and Hawkeye opens up to him so beautifully. Lets him in deep, so deep. Trapper cradles Hawkeye's head in his hands, runs fingers through his hair, _holds_ him.

And then Trapper trails kisses along Hawkeye's neck. Gentle at first and then with teeth. Leaving dark bruises on his pale skin. _Marking_ him.

"Trapper," Hawkeye gasps his name, overcome. "Trapper, please..."

"I got you, honey." Trapper punctuates his words with kisses. "Don't worry, I'm gonna take real good care of you, Hawk."

He licks a nipple and Hawkeye screams.

Trapper pushes Hawk back against the bed, spreads him out across the mattress, for better access to his chest. His tits are so pretty, red and hard - just like his cock - and Trapper can't resist pinching and licking and biting at them. Hawkeye's back is a gorgeous arch and he has one hand fisted in the sheets, the other tangled in Trapper's curls, holding him in place.

Trapper worries at the nipple in his mouth until Hawke's an incoherently begging mess - writhing on the bed, pulling aimlessly at Trapper's hair, hips jerking helplessly.

"Please, Trap. _Please_."

Trapper bites a deep bruise into Hawkeye's pec and then moves further down. Scrapes his teeth along the ridge of Hawk's ribs, sucks kisses into the tender flesh of his belly and thighs. Finally, finally, he reaches Hawkeye's cock. And it's absolutely _dripping_.

Trapper licks the straining flesh from base to tip and then lays soft, open-mouthed kisses along the length. God. The _taste_ of him.

Hawkeye pants a quiet litany of "fuck, fuck, fuck" under his breath, utterly overcome.

And Trapper figures he's teased enough. He wraps a hand around Hawkeye's desperate cock and swirls his thumb gently against the swollen, rosy head. And it's slick, so slick, there's hardly any friction. But it must be enough cuz Hawkeye gasps gently - brokenly - and then he's spilling all over Trapper's fist and his own stomach.

* * *

Hawkeye has melted into a puddle of pure bliss. All he can do is lay there, blinking dazedly up at Trapper - who's cleaning him up with a warm washcloth. And then Trapper cuddles up against him, holds him, and it's perfect.

Except that Trapper's still hard. Hell, Trapper is still _dressed_.

But when Hawkeye tries to wriggle around to get his hands on him, Trapper just holds him tighter.

"Plenty of time for round two later, Hawk," he gentles. "Gonna have a real nice time opening you up for me. Getting you ready to take me nice and deep and slow. But there's no rush. We got plenty of time."

And Hawkeye relaxes back into the comfort of Trapper's arms. Because it's true. They have all the time in the world.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By popular demand, this chapter is a follow-up to chapter 11. The first part is also rated explicit, but everything after the page break is pure schmaltz.

Hawkeye has fallen into a kind of lazy doze. His limbs are heavy and his whole body feels suffused with a warm contentment. Trapper's arm is a comfortable weight over his ribs - a promise that he doesn't have to go anywhere or do anything - welcome after a long, busy week at work.

Trapper's hard cock - snuggled sweetly against Hawkeye's ass - is another kind of promise.

Hawkeye's own cock twitches and begins to fill. Trapper hooks his chin over Hawkeye's shoulder and grins down at it. He stiffens further under the heated gaze.

"Ready for round two, Hawk?" Trapper's tone is teasing but the way he's grinding against Hawkeye shows just how ready _he_ is.

Hawkeye wriggles himself around to face Trapper and looks down at his straining erection. God, he's big. And all that is going to be _inside_ Hawkeye soon. He can hardly wait.

"Looks like I'm not the only one interested," Hawkeye teases. "But you're a little overdressed for this part. C'mon, Trap, strip for me." Hawkeye waggles his eyebrowns in comical lechery.

Trapper rolls his eyes at him but gets up off the bed and starts stripping. And he makes a pretty good show of it, too. Trapper's still in his work clothes and all those little shirt buttons really let him draw things out, the tease. He does finally break - and sling his skivvies at Hawkeye's face - when Hawkeye starts up with the sultry saxophone accompaniment.

"You ought to have gone into cabaret instead of surgery, Trap," Hawkeye says and then laughs as Trapper poses and flexes like some sort of pinup. "Maybe you could've ended up in a USO show instead of a MASH. That little routine sure would've raised my moral." Hawkeye mimes a growing erection.

And then he rolls around on the bed, giggling like a loon, as Trapper whacks at him with a pillow. And then Trapper tackles him down against the mattress, pins him with his big strong hands and big muscular thighs. And _oh yeah_ , they were supposed to be having sex right now.

Hawkeye arches up into Trapper - still pinned at his wrists and hips - and grinds their cocks together. There. That ought to get things moving in the right direction again. And it works, because Trapper leans down for a biting kiss and then rolls off Hawkeye to go dig out condoms, lube, and surgical gloves from the bedside table. Hawkeye relaxes back into the sweet anticipation.

Trapper looks down at Hawkeye, sprawled out on the bed, all long limbs and lustful mischief. His earlier desperation is gone and they've moved back into their normal, playful dynamic. But Trapper's still determined to take Hawkeye slow. Thorough. Have him fall apart on Trapper's dick.

He pulls on a glove and gets a good handful of slick. Trapper plans to be at this next part a while.

Hawkeye hears the snap of the surgical glove and his response is almost Pavlovian. Without really thinking about what he's doing, he's turning over, getting up onto his knees, resting his head on his folded arms, positioning himself so that Trapper can work him open. He'd feel ashamed at being so easy, but Trapper's giving him a heated, appreciative once-over. Hawkeye arches his back a little, showing off.

"You sure are pretty like that." Trapper kisses the dip of Hawkeye's spine. "Just begging to be opened up, made all slick and warm and open for my cock."

Hawkeye whines. God, they haven't even started yet and Trapper's already taking him apart.

Trapper presses the pad of his thumb against Hawkeye's hole. Not penetrating at all, just holding it there, letting him feel the pressure build. A taste of what's to come.

"C'mon, Trap. Quit teasing." Hawkeye presses back against Trapper's hold. He's so close to getting what he wants.

"Told you I was gonna take my time with this. Enjoy it." Enjoy _you_ , Trapper seems to say.

But Trapper does remove his thumb, replacing it with a slicked finger tracing Hawkeye's rim. The motions are gentle, controlled. But Trapper is undoubtedly pressing into Hawkeye. Opening him up bit by bit. Slow and inexorable as the tide - and there's nothing for Hawkeye to do but melt into it.

Hawkeye's settled down now, lax and pliant under Trapper. Relaxed enough Trapper can start to work his finger deeper. And Hawkeye's not new to this - he's able to take a lot more right away - but Trapper wants him so open and relaxed that sliding into him is like a dream. No effort or discomfort. Just a long, slow glide into that perfect warmth.

So Trapper takes his time.

Lays gentle kisses along Hawkeye's arched back. Listens to Hawkeye sigh gently into his folded arms. Rubs soothing circles into Hawkeye's hip as Trapper works first one, then two, then three slick fingers into him. Stretches Hawkeye carefully. Works him open gently, patiently.

And when Hawkeye's ass is as slick and open as his panting mouth, Trapper rubs right at the edge of his prostate. Hawkeye lets out a deep, low moan and his cock drips a little extra - but he doesn't even try to reach for more. Just accepts what Trapper gives him. And Trapper figures he's about ready to give Hawkeye his cock.

Trapper pulls out - and Hawkeye whines pitifully. He's empty, so empty. But Trapper's stripping off the glove and putting on a condom - and giving himself a little attention from the sound of things. Not that Hawkeye can blame him. He's been hard for so long. There are slick smears along the back of Hawkeye's thighs from where Trapper's cock bumped and slid against him as he prepped Hawkeye. He's got to be getting impatient.

But Trapper is gentle, unrushed as he helps Hawkeye reposition onto his back. He places a pillow under Hawkeye's hips, stretches and massages Hawkeye's slightly stiff arms, kisses Hawkeye so sweetly. Treats him like something precious. And then Trapper's positioning himself at Hawkeye's entrance, the head of his cock just barely teasing penetration.

"Please, Trap," Hawkeye barely more than whispers. He's looking directly into Trapper's hazel eyes and it's like looking into the sun.

Trapper takes Hawkeye's hand, twines their fingers together. "I got you, Hawk. Don't worry."

And then Trapper's pressing in, entering him in one slow, deep thrust. Hawkeye feels himself open around him like a flower to the sun.

Trapper's buried as deep as he can get inside Hawkeye and he stays that way for a moment, just to catch his breath. Just to revel in the sensation. No matter how many times he gets to do this, it's a fucking gift he'll never take for granted.

Trapper looks down at Hawkeye and he looks back with such warmth, such _love_ , Trapper's just gotta kiss him. So he leans down over Hawk, bracing himself on his elbows, and kisses him deep and long and thorough. Tries to say everything he's feeling - all the love, all the tenderness, all the devotion. When they break apart, Trapper keeps close. So close he and Hawkeye are breathing the air from each other's lungs.

Then Hawkeye's wrapping his legs up over Trapper's hips, pulling them even closer together, and they're moving as one. Joined. Two people in one body.

They move together in long, slow rolls like ocean breakers. Trapper is buried deep, so deep. Hawkeye's hard cock grinds against Trapper's abs in a long slow slide. And they're still breathing hot heavy pants into each other's mouths.

Time stretches out, elastic. They've been doing this forever. They'll still be doing this as the world ends.

Hawkeye's floating in a dreamy haze. He lets wave after wave of pleasure carry him gently towards orgasm. He's in no particular hurry to get there, though. Not like the almost burning desperation of his first orgasm. Hawkeye knows he'll be taken care of. Knows Trapper will take care of him. For now, he just enjoys the feeling of slowly building pleasure.

Then Trapper's gathering Hawkeye into his arms and they're shifting into a new position. Hawkeye is cradled on Trapper's lap, held comfortingly against his firm chest. He can feel Trapper's strong thighs move and flex beneath him as he thrusts. And their moving together has changed from a calm sea to waves breaking against the shore. Deep. Powerful. Hawkeye feels swept away. All he can do is clutch desperately at Trapper's broad back, gasp brokenly into Trapper's ear as he steadily unravels.

And then Trapper works a hand between their bodies, wraps it firmly around Hawkeye's cock, and says, "C'mon, honey. Give it up for me."

At his first stroke, Hawkeye shatters. And Trapper is right there with him.

* * *

"Wow," Hawkeye pants.

Trapper had lowered him gently to the bed before going to clean up a little and Hawkeye doesn't think he could move if he tried.

"That was a Goddamn religious experience," Trapper says, sounding awed, as he flops down next to Hawkeye.

Hawkeye musters up the energy to grab hold of Trapper's hand - though his arms feel like wet noodles. "I bet you say that to all the girls you have transcendent, mind-blowing sex with."

"You know none of them hold a candle to you, baby." Trapper's expression is downright smarmy. But then he turns serious. "I mean it, though. That was something else and I don't think it coulda happened with anyone but you."

Hawkeye gives Trapper's hand a little squeeze and Trapper squeezes back.

"I know what you mean. I didn't expect anything like this when we started this little game. And I don't know that I'd want to do this every day - I still can't feel my legs." And Hawkeye feels worn out emotionally, too. "But thank you for doing this, thank you for sharing this with me."

Trapper lifts their entwined hands and presses a gentle kiss to the back of Hawkeye's hand. They lay like that for a while, content. Together.

"It feels like this oughtta change things between us," Trapper says quietly. "It would with anyone else. That was... That was get hitched, start a family, pledge your undying devotion kinda sex."

"A union," Hawkeye says, almost to himself. And then he laughs. "Well, we can't exactly get married. Or have kids - although I'm not against trying." Hawkeye waggles his eyebrows and Trapper's laughing too.

And then they quiet down and Hawkeye continues. "I don't think it really does change anything, Trapper. I love you and I'm not going anywhere."

"I love you too, Hawk. Through thick or thin." A pause. "Till death us do part."

They've moved to lay curled towards each other, still holding hands, and Hawkeye can see that Trapper's dead serious.

"Till death us do part," Hawkeye whispers.

And they kiss. Softly. Gently. Sharing breath.


	13. Chapter 13

"Hey, Trapper, you want to add anything to this Christmas card to BJ?" Hawkeye asks.

They've written joint Christmas cards to Radar and Klinger and Father Mulcahy and some of the nurses - Trapper's currently sitting across from Hawkeye at the dining room table, finishing his part of their letter to Ginger. They've sent a joint present to Hawkeye's dad and bought joint gifts for the girls. They're a unit - HawkeyeandTrapper.

But it had been HawkeyeandBJ for a while - if not quite in the same way.

"I don't know that he'd even want to hear from me. I don't mean anything to him other than being your roommate." And Trapper is also someone BJ had gotten jealous over a couple times. "Better just be from you, Hawk."

"All right." Hawkeye sounds tired.

Trapper reaches across the table and takes his hand. "You wanna talk about it?"

"I don't know if I even know what's bothering me." Hawkeye sighs. "This isn't my first go at this kind of relationship - although it's probably the most.. settled version. I know that I can't go yelling about how much I love you from the rooftops, can't even write about it in a goddamn Christmas card to my friends. I'm grateful for how many people know the truth, I really am, I'm glad we don't have to hide our relationship from Margaret or my dad or Sidney. But sending out all these letters really shows just how many people - people I love and care about - I have to hide it from. Because even if they didn't turn us in, they wouldn't understand."

"You ever think. You ever wish you found a girl to settle down with? Someone you could tell everyone about." Trapper takes a breath. "I wouldn't. I wouldn't blame you if you wished for that. If you wanted to go looking for it."

"Nah." Hawkeye seems to be trying for casual, but he ain't quite hitting the mark. "I think about all the girls I've been with - and I've had a lot of fun with some of them, don't get me wrong. But in the back of my mind, it was always. There was always this part of me saying I _had_ to do it. It kept me safe, more than anything - more than being about the sex or romance, it was about being safe. And that colored things, took a lot of the romance - the potential for a future - right out of the relationship. I spent a lot of time chasing women who had absolutely no interest in me because it was an easy way to keep up appearances without having to actually do anything."

Hawkeye pauses.

"I don't want to go back to that, Trap. It was.. empty. Not like the connection, the understanding we have with each other. And maybe someday I will meet another Kyung Soon - another women I could have something lasting with - but it seems stupid to give up what I've got now - something good, something permanent, something meaningful - just on the off chance. I just wish..." Hawkeye trails off.

"Wish the world was a whole hell of a lot less shitty?" Trapper asks, sardonic.

Hawkeye laughs. "Yeah, that. I guess I got so used to the.. freedom of the 4077 - we were all just a bunch of weirdos stuck together in an impossible situation, desperately trying to stay sane, you know? - that I forgot what the real world was like a little bit. People didn't bat an eye at the jokes I made or the closeness I shared with you and BJ - it was just how I was, one weirdo out of a whole camp of weirdos. I forgot that other people - people in the real world - cared about that kind of thing so much. Especially after Frank left and I wasn't getting called a degenerate every day."

"And now you're back here in the real world and it's not what you remembered, not what you dreamed of to get you through Korea," Trapper says.

Hawkeye nods, defeated.

And Trapper knows how that feels. Trapper had felt the same thing when it had hit him that he was _home_. This was it. There was nothing else waiting for him. No magical, perfect world - dreamed of through rose tinted memory all through the Korean nights - nothing special hidden away behind the brutal reality of America and Boston and home.

"I guess I'm feeling kind of betrayed," Hawkeye says. "All that fighting for "democracy." All that blood and death. And I come back here - back home - and I ask myself if it was worth it. If this is really what we're trying to protect - to spread to other people. Conformity and bigotry and hate. And I feel like a fool for ever thinking - ever hoping - there was a reason for what we did. Something good behind the blood and shit and death." Hawkeye takes a breath. "There's a lot of good in my life, don't get me wrong. There are a lot of things that make me happy - you, the kids, the clinic, this strange little family we've cobbled together from the dregs of two different wars. But it's. A lot of the best parts of my life have to stay hidden. It's a secret happiness. And the fact that I can't tell BJ - the guy who was my best friend through some of the worst times in my life - about you, about how important you are to me. That really drives it all home."

Trapper squeezes Hawkeye's hand tight. There's not really anything to say to that - no words are adequate.

"At least we'll get to see Margaret and Sidney at New Years. People who know - who we can be open around." Hawkeye sighs and then straightens from his defeated slump. "I'm not - I'm not about to go stick my head in an oven or try and storm the White House or anything. I'm ok, Trap. Everything kind of just hit me all at once, but I'm ok."

"Wanna go out tonight? Be around other people - other guys like us?" Trapper asks. It might help Hawkeye feel less alone - less lost. It had sure helped Trapper when he first got back.

"Yeah," Hawkeye says, "that sounds nice." And he leaves the letter to BJ there on the table.

The bar is an oasis of warmth and light after the snowy streets of Boston. Full of laughter and chatter and dancing. Proof that Hawkeye isn't alone.

He dances with a dozen different men. Feels the warm solidity of their bodies, the strength of their arms. Knows with a certainty that this is real. He is real.

Trapper watches it all from the bar, face open and warm. And at the end of the night, he takes Hawkeye into his arms for a final spin around the dancefloor. Takes Hawkeye home and tucks him into bed under the warm covers in the cozy home they've made for themselves here.

And the next morning, Hawkeye sees that Trapper has written a short note at the end of Hawkeye's letter to BJ. And he smiles as he seals the envelope.

* * *

Trapper comes home from work to find a mysterious package sitting on the dining room table. Hawkeye's starring at it as intently as if it were a bomb. But unless Frank somehow got their address, it's probably not immediately dangerous - so Trapper takes the time to hang up his coat and hat and leaves his shoes to dry on the mat before approaching.

"Whatcha got there, Hawk? You're staring at that box like you can will yourself into x-ray vision."

"It's from Charles. And there's no note so I wanted to wait until you showed up just in case it's a lethal prank." Hawkeye brandishes a pair of scissors and cuts the package open. "The moment of truth!" he exclaims as he throws back the wrappings.

It's a fruitcake.

"Well, you weren't kidding about it being potentially lethal," Trapper says. "I'm pretty sure you could light it on fire from three feet away, it's got so much booze in it."

"What the hell are we supposed to do with it?" Hawkeye asks. "Use it for a doorstop? One slice and I'd be drunk for a week."

"Don't look at me," Trapper says. "I prefer to drink my booze and eat my dessert separate. Maybe you could bring it into the clinic, see if the other staff want any."

"Yeah, unless he also gave Letta the same gift. I can't compete with her powers of persuasion - I'd end up taking them both home. Ah. There's a little card stuck in it. Says Merry Christmas blah blah token of my friendship to all those in our card club blah Winchester family tradition blah blah Charles."

"Boy, if that's a Winchester family tradition they must all be absolutely plastered for the entire month of December," Trapper says.

"Must be what gets them through all those high-society holiday festivities." Then Hawkeye sighs. "Well, if bringing it to the clinic and pawning it off on Dr. Wilson is out, what do we do?"

"Uh," Trapper says, thinking. "We could put it on the stoop next door, kind of a mystery Christmas present for the neighbors."

"Good thinking - make it someone else's problem." Hawkeye re-wraps the cake and writes Merry Christmas in big letters on the box. "Think it'll be ok outside overnight?"

"Well, it ain't snowing and the cake's practically pickled - it'll probably be fine," Trapper says. And then after a peek through the front curtains, "Quick, let's put it outside now when no one's around to see us."

When Hawkeye leaves for work the next morning, the cake is gone. But when Trapper comes home off a late shift, he reports that the cake has been re-wrapped and placed on another doorstep a few houses down. Apparently the O'Gradys hadn't thought much of it either.

They make a sort of game of it, betting pocket change on who will get it next and admiring their neighbors' taste in holiday wrapping paper. Until finally, a week after it had arrived, the cake disappears permanently.

"Think it actually got eaten?" Trapper asks.

"Maybe they did the sensible thing and chucked it unopened," Hawkeye says. "I'm just glad that scourge of the neighborhood is finally gone."

But they can genuinely tell Charles they got a lot of enjoyment out of his gift when he asks about it at poker night.

* * *

Hawkeye's an agnostic and Trapper's been excommunicated but it's still nice to have Christmas with his family. Ok, it's not exactly Christmas - he and Hawkeye both have to work on the actual holiday - but he gets the kids the weekend after and they've got a tree and presents and Hawkeye's dad shipped a whole box of Pierce family decorations down.

They eat dinner together and then sit around the glowing tree and drink hot chocolate. It feels like home. Like family. Trapper maybe tears up a little. He'd missed that feeling last year, what with things between him and Louise so strained.

The girls are just thrilled to get to go through the festivities twice.

Hawkeye is absolutely giddy with excitement. There's something about watching people you love open the gifts you got just for them. Seeing Becky's blinding smile at the stack of Nancy Drew books gets a matching grin from him. And Cathy goes wild for the ice skates they'd gotten for her - especially when she manages to extract a promise to go to the ice rink on her next visit.

Hawkeye is even more overwhelmed when Cathy gives him the scarf he'd gotten her started knitting all those months ago. It's a little lumpy and misshapen but it's warm and soft and obviously made with love. And it's a nice cheerful pink, just the thing to chase away the winter blues. Hawkeye gives her a big hug and vows to wear it every day.

Later, after the kids are in bed, he and Trapper exchange gifts. And when Trapper opens Hawkeye's gift for him - the sweater, started almost the moment he got home - he's on the edge of his seat. Hawkeye's made a lot of people knitwear as gifts, but this is a bigger project than most. And for someone who's opinion means an awful lot.

"Hawkeye." Trapper sounds awed. "I love it, thank you." He cradles the sweater to his chest like it's something precious.

"Well, try it on," Hawkeye urges. "I want to see how I did on the sizing."

Trapper complies. And it looks _good_. Trapper's got a cute body regardless but the fit is flattering and Hawkeye was right about the color bringing out the green in Trapper's eyes. Hawkeye lets out a low whistle in appreciation.

"It meet your standards?" Trapper asks as he does a slow turn to show off all the angles. "It sure is comfy. I don't know that I'll wanna take it off till August."

"I've outdone myself with this one, Trap, it has to be said." Hawkeye lets himself sound a little smug. And then more seriously he says, "I'm glad you like it."

And then Hawkeye makes impatient grabby hands. "C'mon Trap, enough with the catwalk. What did you get me?"

Trapper hands over the package. And he's been nervous about this. He's not as well read - not as cultured - as Hawkeye is. But he'd liked the author from English class and knows Hawkeye's referenced at least one of his poems. And the book has a lot about war and living in the aftermath. It felt appropriate. Though Trapper's still not sure if Hawkeye will appreciate the book or understand what Trapper's trying to say with it.

But Hawkeye looks happy with the gift - and then he opens the book to the marked page and reads:

_Let it go on; let the love of this hour be poured out till all the answers are  
made, the last dollar spent and the last blood gone._

_Time runs with an axe and a hammer, time slides down the hallways with a  
pass-key and a master-key, and time gets by, time wins._

_Let the love of this hour go on; let all the oaths and children and people of  
this love be clean as a washed stone under a waterfall in the sun._

_Time is a young man with ballplayer legs, time runs a winning race  
against life and the clocks, time tickles with rust and spots._

_Let love go on; the heartbeats are measured out with a measuring glass, so  
many apiece to gamble with, to use and spend and reckon; let love go on._

Hawkeye's a little misty-eyed when he looks back up.

"Thank you, Trapper." And then Hawkeye's hugging him, the book squeezed awkwardly between them.

It looks like he does understand after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem in this chapter is "Let Love Go On" from the book _Smoke and Steel_ by Carl Sandburg. He also wrote the poem "Chicago" that Hawkeye quotes in the episode _Adam's Ribs_.  
> 


	14. Chapter 14

"It's almost nine. We ready for the invading hordes?" Hawkeye asks.

It's New Years Eve and he and Trapper have been elected to host the East Coast 4077 celebration. Charles had offered, of course, but Trapper informed him quite seriously that he was never setting foot in Back Bay again. And they have enough room for Margaret and her _old nursing school friend_ Kat and Sidney Freedman to stay overnight since Sidney is short enough to sleep on the couch. Hawkeye's looking forward to catching up with all of them, but where Charles has platoons of servants to get everything ready, he and Trapper only have themselves.

"Well, the food should be about done," Trapper says. "I've just gotta put out crackers for that plate of cheese and cold cuts and stuff."

"Charcuterie," Hawkeye interjects.

"Bless you." Trapper's wearing a shit eating grin and Hawkeye wallops him with an oven mitt. "Ok, ok. I'll be serious," Trapper says and Hawkeye stops the barrage. "Charles is bringing champagne because he refuses to - quote - swill sparkling wine like a lower-class boor. And Margaret will probably bring Scotch anyway. And we've got ginger ale for you."

"I suppose I may as well get the champagne flutes out," Hawkeye says. "These are nice, Trap. Why do _you_ own them?"

"Hey, I'm a man of refined tastes. At least when it comes to drink ware." They both laugh and then Trapper continues, "Truth to tell, I think they were a wedding gift. Louise must not have wanted them - she took a lot of the fancy shit with her when she and Robert shacked up since most of it came from her side of the family anyway. But I'm glad she left the glasses - Charles may even deign to drink outta them."

"Speak of the devil, I think I heard a posh knock," Hawkeye says and goes to answer the door.

It is Charles - and he's already a little sloshed by the look of things. Hawkeye gets him installed on the couch with a drink and food and listens to his complaints about how Honoria had absolutely ruined dinner by bringing her pet dog - which had apparently knocked into a servant and upset an entire tureen of split pea soup. Hopefully the others show up soon.

Fortunately, Hawkeye is saved from having to listen to another rambling drunken story - this time about Honoria's unsuitable new beau, who had emphatically _not_ been invited to dinner, hence the dog as a plus one - by the arrival of the rest of their guests. He's really glad to see them - all these members of his strange, wonderful family - and Margaret must feel the same because she practically leaps into Trapper's arms as he comes into the living room.

Margaret hadn't meant to give such an.. enthusiastic greeting. But she is hit with such a rush of joy and familiarity seeing Hawkeye and Trapper and yes, even Charles, again. And it manifests in her throwing herself on Trapper as soon as she's through the door. It's a good thing he's sturdy.

"You sure have a way with women, Trap. They're just throwing themselves at you." Hawkeye sounds teasing rather than jealous, so that's all right. And Kat's just laughing at her.

"Can't help being irresistible." Trapper winks as he sets Margaret down gently.

"Irresistible, huh," Kat says. She gives Trapper a once-over. "Whatever you say, honey."

"Oh, Margaret," Hawkeye says with a grin, "I like her." He turns to Kat and offers his hand. "Hawkeye Pierce. Pleased to finally meet you after hearing about you in all of Margaret's letters."

Kat laughs. "I've heard plenty about you as well." She turns to Trapper. "Both of you. Singly _and_ collectively."

"Might be time to find a new topic of conversation, boys," Sidney says. He'd been lurking in the background a little, observing. And reveling. There's something about the antics of the 4077 - even here in America - that seems designed to raise his spirits.

Hawkeye gestures for them to sit down. "Right you are, Sidney. Let's get you all some refreshments and then we can tell embarrassing stories about Charles."

"He's sloshed enough he may even provide some of them himself," Trapper adds.

The evening passes with laughter and stories. When it hits midnight, they all let out a raucous cheer. Then Hawkeye and Trapper exchange a mischievous glance before descending as one on Margaret. She'd be worried for her virtue - such as it is - if this was back in their first years in Korea. Back before Hawkeye had turned into a semi-decent human being, had been convinced into it by a competent CO and been bullied into it by her - with the help a fair bit of yelling. Back before Trapper had managed the same feat in the wake of his divorce. Back before she'd dumped that low-life Frank Burns and changed for the better.

But they have all changed - and have all changed each other. So she's not surprised when Hawkeye and Trapper just kiss her high on the cheek - one on each side, synchronized as a Swiss watch. They come after Kat next and she bears it with the grace and good humor Margaret has always admired in her - so different from her own short temper - before Kat turns to lay her own kiss on Margaret's cheek, a bit closer to the lips. Sidney is the duo's next victim and then they round on Charles - and the mischief is back with a vengance.

Kat laughs as Hawkeye and Trapper corner a spluttering Charles against the credenza - and then proceed to shake both of his hands vigorously while wishing him a happy New Year in atrocious mockeries of his own accent. Margaret will never admit it, but she's missed these two idiots. The soft smile on Sidney Freedman's face shows she's not the only one.

They toast the New Year with Charles's champagne - and ginger ale, in Hawkeye's case - and sing Auld Lang Syne. It's not long before Charles is snoring on the sofa. The way he's been drinking, Trapper ain't exactly surprised he's passed out. But he is annoyed - at least until Margaret suggests they give him a little surprise to wake up to in addition to the hangover. A few minutes with a makeup bag and the girls have him painted up like some kinda high society B girl.

Then Hawkeye turns to Trapper with an evil grin. "Think Charles would mind if we filled in his hair a little?"

"I'll get the iodine," Trapper says. He's maybe a little sore about the way Charles behaved tonight - high class his butt.

Charles remains asleep through the whole makeover. And he's still asleep when they've finished getting ready for bed. Even shaking him a little doesn't elicit any response except for a louder snore. And as much as he might like to, Trapper isn't going to try slapping him - it would ruin the makeup job, for one thing.

"Well, I don't think we're getting Charles off the couch any time soon," Hawkeye says. "He's out cold."

He and Trapper exchange a glance.

"You can bunk with us, Sidney," Trapper offers. "Or in the girls' room - but I gotta warn you, they've got bunk beds and you will give yourself a concussion."

"With an endorsement like that, I think I'll sleep with you two," Sidney says.

"Oh, Sidney, you have no idea how long I've waited to hear those words!" Hawkeye says breathlessly.

Margaret laughs and says, "On that note, I'm going to get some sleep. Good night, boys." She pulls Kat into the guest room.

Sidney follows Hawkeye and Trapper into their bedroom - it's late and he's tired. He's not as used to staying up all night as he had been during the war - sometimes staying up with a patient, but usually as an attempt to keep the dreams about Korea at bay. But his roommates aren't quite ready for bed, apparently. As soon as the door is closed, Trapper and Hawkeye are standing pressed against one another, closer than they've been all night - and that's saying something.

"Good night, Trap," Hawkeye says. And he and Trapper kiss.

"Night, Hawk," Trapper replies and they're kissing again.

Sidney had assumed their relationship went beyond the platonic as far back as his first visits to the 4077. Hawkeye's not known for hiding his emotions, after all - just the events that cause them. And Sidney's assumptions about their relationship had been further supported by the week he'd spent as their house guest. But even so, they'd kept everything behind closed doors, maintained plausible deniability. So he'd never asked outright - never looked for proof. And he'd never volunteered anything about himself, either.

"I can go back and brush my teeth again if you boys need a little more time to say good night," Sidney says, keeping his tone deliberately casual.

But Hawkeye just pulls back the blankets on the bed and lays down. "C'mon, Sidney, bedtime." He pats the mattress next to him.

Sidney lays down and he's cocooned between Hawkeye and Trapper and the blankets.

"Night, Sidney," Hawkeye says and kisses him. It's close-mouthed and chaste - nothing like his earlier kisses with Trapper - but it's equally unexpected. Sidney turns to Trapper, unsure how he'll react. But he just echoes the gesture before turning out the light.

* * *

Sidney wakes up to Trapper getting out of bed. He attempts to extract himself from the sheets - not wanting to overstay his welcome - but a half-asleep Hawkeye just pulls him back down into the nest of blankets.

"Don't bother getting up yet," he says sleepily. "Trapper's just going off to be all manly and athletic. He'll be back in about an hour _and_ he'll make coffee. Then we can get up."

True to Hawkeye's word, Sidney is reawakened about an hour and a half later by Trapper coming back from, presumably, the shower, judging by the fact he's wearing a towel - and only a towel. Sidney tries not to be too much of a voyeur as Trapper gets dressed. Hawkeye has no such compunctions and is openly leering. Wanting to give them a little space, Sidney goes to take his own shower. He's still not sure why they're showing him this part of their relationship.

"Are we going to talk about last night?" Sidney asks.

He and Hawkeye are sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee while Trapper starts on breakfast. The house is quiet, everyone else still asleep. The kitchen is an island of warmth and light. It exudes the feeling of safety, intimacy - a place where secrets can be allowed to breath.

"I don't know that there's anything to talk about, Sidney. You can't be surprised about me, or Trapper, or me and Trapper." Hawkeye's tone is flippant but he's looking at Sidney with such an intensity. Like he's trying to speak these words to his very soul.

"Not surprised, no. But I am curious why you chose to offer such explicit proof of your relationship. And why you chose to kiss me." Sidney doesn't think they're looking for a third partner or even a one-night-stand. The kiss hadn't been sexual - though it had been highly intimate.

"We're not in the army anymore, Sidney. No chance of a blue discharge. And you won't turn us in," Hawkeye says.

"You sound awfully sure of that," Sidney responds. "What makes you think you can trust me?"

"You're a Jewish communist, Sidney. You're not going to turn us in." Hawkeye sounds almost challenging.

"Mutually assured destruction. How apt." If he wants to go this route, Sidney will let him. Up to a point.

But Trapper turns from the stove, says, "Hawk," in a tone of gentle recrimination.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for." Hawkeye sighs. "You're my friend, Sidney, and I trust you. And I'm sick of keeping secrets from my friends - especially something this big, this important. I wanted you to know. Know for certain. After all, you've already been in my head a few times - what's another peek behind the curtain between friends?"

"And the kiss?" Sidney knows that Hawkeye will deflect till the cows come home. The closer his deflections come to truth, the harder Sidney will have to push to get the entire picture. And Sidney doesn't doubt that everything Hawkeye just told him is true.

"It felt like the right thing to do," Hawkeye says, unsure now in a way he hadn't been last night. "It sometimes feels like we're the only ones in the whole world. There's a sea of people out there but they don't feel real the way we do here, now. I thought.. I thought you might feel that way too. And you don't have anybody real to go home to at night. I have Trapper and Margaret has Kat but you don't have anyone. I wanted you to know that you aren't alone."

Hawkeye looks like he's about to start crying and Sidney reaches out for him, holds on to him. He's not a psychiatrist in this moment, just a friend. But he's never been able to completely separate the two. And that little speech is so quintessentially Hawkeye - hiding what's bothering him behind his concern for others.

"We're all afraid of being alone - humans are social creatures, after all. But there are plenty of other people out there you can get to know. Maybe the connection won't be as deep as with those you knew in Korea, but not every friendship needs to be the same. I've found a lot of kindred spirits in the various social clubs I belong to."

"Recruiting for the pinkos, Sidney?" Trapper asks, but it's clear he's teasing.

"Ah yes, you've found me out. It's all part of Russia's master plan to take over America with Jewish homosexuals," Sidney says, deadpan.

"Well, you fellas can have it," Trapper says. "Gotta be better than having a general as president - especially one so committed to rooting out degenerates." The last word is spat out like a curse.

"I've always said one good degeneracy deserves another," Hawkeye quips. "I suppose I should go find a few social clubs of my own. Get in on the ground floor of this coup." He's drawn his hand back from Sidney's hold and appears much more at ease.

Then Margaret and Kat come into the kitchen and Trapper serves everyone eggs and toast and coffee and the conversation is traded for lighter chatter about work and mutual friends.

Sidney talks about his paper for the American Psychiatric Association about treating battle fatigue and Hawkeye asks, "So, did you manage to track down Steve Newsome? How's he doing readjusting to civilian life?"

Sidney refuses to break patient confidentiality, even for a man who isn't technically his patient. But there are some things he can share. "I did find Dr. Newsome. And we just had a short interview, not a full therapy session, but he seems well. Or as well as can be expected. He's working a general practice - couldn't go back to surgery after the war, too much pressure, too many memories. He's interested in the quiet life, even talked about leaving Chicago. But all in all, as well adjusted as any of us."

"We all need a change of pace sometimes," Margaret says. "I never saw myself as the type to put down roots, but now that I have, I can't imagine going back to hopping from army base to army base or - God forbid - back to another field hospital."

Kat smiles warmly at her. "And I'm sure glad of that."

"There's something to be said for Korea helping you see what it is you really want outta life," Trapper says - and he's looking right at Hawkeye.

"Well, if Steve's looking for a small town practice far away from his old life, I may know of an opening," Hawkeye says. "My dad is looking to retire in the next few years - and I'm not going back to Crabapple Cove for anything other than a visit - so he needs someone to take over the practice."

"Yeah," Trapper says, "and there's a line of girls looking for a Korean doctor husband after Hawkeye turned 'em down. Just in case Newsome wants to start a family or something."

"You just want them to stop mobbing me every time we go into town," Hawkeye jokes. "Well, there being fresh grist for the gossip mill would make my life a lot easier - I can sure introduce him around if he wants."

Margaret laughs. "And you think they'll settle for Steve after having their hearts set on the great Hawkeye Pierce?"

"Oh, Steve's handsome enough - even if he lacks my particular flair. I'm sure he'll be fine." Hawkeye pauses. "And he does seem much more the white picket fence type."

"Well, I won't start planning a wedding just yet, but I'll certainly let him know about the job opening." Sidney has missed the way the 4077 pulls together when someone needs help - even if their schemes often end in partial disaster. This time, he hopes they'll be able to pull off the scam - Steve could stand to be around friends who understood what he'd been through, and who are figuring out how to live in the aftermath.

And then Charles wakes up and discovers what they've done to him. He berates Hawkeye and Margaret between feeble groans and complaints of a headache. And Sidney has missed this part of the 4077 as well - the games and the pranks - and the retribution for same. He'll have to try and get up to Boston more often.


	15. Chapter 15

Charles is running out of time. He'd lunched with Grandmama at Copely Square and she had issued an ultimatum - couched though it was in the genteelest of language - over dessert. Charles must find a suitable bride lest the Emerson-Winchester fortune pass to, ugh, Cousin Alfred. Who, despite his many deficiencies of character, has both a wife and - more importantly - an heir to carry on the family name.

Charles cannot - will not - allow such an idiotic gormless cretin as Cousin Alfred to be the one responsible for carrying the Winchester name and legacy into the future. And there's no saying what his nouveau rich, money grubbing harlot of a wife would do with the family fortune, but it would doubtless be something gauche. So Charles must, for the good of the family, find a suitable bride - and soon.

Unfortunately, Charles knows just who to ask for help.

"Charles!" Pierce exclaims a little too loudly as he answers the door. And he's looking rather... rumpled. Perhaps he has company. "We weren't expecting you to drop by this afternoon."

He does have company. This was undoubtedly a mistake. But now that Charles is here, he may as well state his purpose.

"Please excuse my rudeness in dropping by unannounced, but I'm afraid I need your help." There, a bit of groveling ought to placate Pierce and hopefully help him speed whatever hussy he has over out the door.

Pierce gestures Charles inside. "Well, if that's the case, step right into my parlor..."

"Said the spider to the fly. You know you're making a devil's bargain asking Hawkeye for unspecified help."

And joy. McIntyre's home as well. At least he appears to have gotten rid of Pierce's girl already.

Pierce smiles not at all comfortingly and says, "How exactly can I help you, Charles? Surely it can't be anything of a medical nature."

"No, no, it's much worse than that." Charles slumps into an armchair. He's playing up the anguish a bit and is gratified when Pierce looks at him in genuine concern. He always was a soft touch. Hopefully it keeps him from laughing Charles out of the room at the next part. "I've been tasked with finding a suitable bride with whom to start a family. And I must be engaged before my family's summer cotillion lest I - and my entire immediate family - lose everything." Charles looks up discretely to see how Pierce and McIntyre are taking his tale of woe.

McIntyre is spluttering and choking on a mouthful of whiskey - and Charles must have missed him pouring a glass - he would have taken one himself, even if it's mid-range Irish swill. Or, more likely, it was left over from Pierce's date - Charles wouldn't be surprised at McIntyre drinking from another's glass.

Charles turns his gaze to Pierce, the man he really needs to impress the urgency of his situation upon. Pierce is just staring unblinkingly back at Charles. And he would feel rather proud of rendering him speechless, but Charles does actually need his help. He hopes Pierce comes out of his shock soon.

It takes McIntyre gently closing Pierce's gaping mouth - and whispering something presumably uncouth into his ear, based on the slight flush it elicits - for Pierce to come back to himself.

"How," Pierce asks, "I repeat how do you expect _me_ to help you? If you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly married. And I doubt I could introduce you to anyone you'd be interested in."

McIntyre snorts. Perhaps Pierce's class of girl has deteriorated further since Korea.

"I'm not looking for introductions, Pierce. I doubt you know any of the eligible debutantes of Boston high society. I simply need help determining if any one on the list of suitable young ladies of good breeding is someone I could actually stand to live with." Charles sighs. "I find myself... changed... by our acquaintanceship - and Korea in general. And after the way my _old school chums_ reacted to our little card club, I want to make sure that any woman I marry is _understanding_ of our friendship."

"Aww, Charles, you admit that we're friends." Pierce looks to McIntyre. "And in front of other people, too."

"He must _really_ need your help," McIntyre adds. "Though I'm not sure I qualify as a people to the Back Bay set."

"Well, true love - or the aristocratic equivalent - is a noble cause. Of course I'll help. But you still haven't explained how I can assist you in this selection process - though, of course, I'm willing to give all the candidates a thorough physical." Pierce leers.

"That will not at all be necessary." Charles affects affront. "After all, I myself am a highly skilled physician." He allows a smirk to grace his features.

Pierce laughs, bested - and does not appear too put out at the loss of opportunity for lechery. Despite his reputation, Charles has never seen him press himself untowardly on any of the young ladies he's acquainted with from their little neighborhood pub. That's the reason Charles feels comfortably approaching him with this difficulty - that and his skill at pranks and practical jokes.

"All levity aside, _gentlemen_ , I'd like Pierce to escort Honoria to the various outings I'll have with the more likely candidates - she has already promised to act as my chaperone. And, as she was once engaged to an Italian, I assume she will also have the necessary fortitude to deal with you." Charles levels a glare at Pierce. "But I warn you, you had best not allow any harm to befall my sister."

"I'll be on my best behavior," Pierce promises. "Though after being engaged to an _Italian_ , surely she can handle a country bumpkin from Maine. I suppose Trapper _would_ be a bridge too far, though."

And there's an edge to Pierce's expression that Charles has learned means he's dangerously close to insulting McIntyre - and that he had better tread carefully lest Pierce tear him apart most viciously.

"I thought perhaps McIntyre could escort the lovely Nurse Freeman to dine with us and any of the candidates who make it past the initial interview. I would not subject either of them to undue... uncomfortableness." For both are fine representations of their respective... backgrounds - managing, as they have, to rise above their unfortunate origins to become competent medical professionals - and they do not deserve the scorn and censure that one of Charles's station would generally level.

"I think it's a terrible idea," McIntyre says. "Count me in."

"Excellent," Charles says brusquely. "You'll of course need suitable clothing - I'll make an appointment with my tailor and send you the details. And I'll need to inform Honoria of the plan..."

There are quite a few wheels to set in motion - including several young ladies to call upon - so Charles bids Pierce and McIntyre a rather indecorous adieu. They don't seem offended by his haste to depart, so Charles leaves South Boston with a spring in his step and a scheme in the works.

* * *

"You're gonna look so pretty all dolled up."

Trapper smooths the shirt over Hawkeye's shoulders, making sure it lays flat. Hawkeye can feel the warmth of Trapper's hands right through the thin silk. It's almost like when Trapper had helped him get ready for his date with Edwina - except that there's no Radar here to keep the mood friendly and comical. It's just intimate. And that intimacy is further underscored by Trapper laying a soft kiss on the back of Hawkeye's neck as he starts to do up the shirt buttons. Hawkeye can see himself in the mirror, half dressed and framed - enveloped - by Trapper, who's standing behind him, steady and steadfast. It gives him the courage to voice his reservations about the evening.

"I'm nervous about going to this little soiree, Trap, I'm not going to lie. I've never been to a high society garden party before - and I know the point of this whole thing is to make sure Charles finds someone who can accept us being friends - but I don't want to actually make a fool of myself." Hawkeye meets Trapper's eyes in the mirror. "I know I agreed to this plan, but now that I'm staring it down, I'm worried. It sort of feels like I'm being asked to play up the worst parts of myself to keep people away - like I did when I went nuts. And I'm worried I'll be stuck back in that version of Hawkeye after I've spent all this time getting out of it."

Trapper shifts so that he's more fully embracing Hawkeye. "Look, if you really can't do it, I'll go and you can stay home. But for all that he's an asshole, Charles ain't gonna make you make yourself look stupid or be the center of attention or anything. He's just asking you to be a semi-decent human being - something you're pretty good at - to make sure his date is one too. And I don't know that I'd be feeling all that comfortable at a high society shindig either, Hawk. But it sounds like Honoria's a good sport and she and Charles will be looking out for you." Then Trapper grins. "And if it gets to be too much you can always pull the fire alarm or hide in the plants or something. I think the conservatory has a big room full of ferns, you oughtta have no problem disappearing."

Hawkeye smiles too. "All that army camouflage training finally being put to good use." He squeezes Trapper's arm briefly. "Thanks, Trap. I think I just sort of got lost in what the worst version of the evening could be but you're right about Charles and the plan and everything - especially the part about me being a paragon of truth justice and the American way." Trapper snorts at that but Hawkeye continues on. "I feel a lot better about mingling with the silver spoon set knowing you'll be here waiting to mock all the upper class twits with me afterwards."

"Well, you ain't ready to head out the door just yet," Trapper teases. "Showing up without pants would definitely be the wrong kinda crass - not to mention, put you right in the spotlight."

Trapper gathers up the suit pants and kneels in front of Hawkeye, holding them open so Hawkeye can steady himself on Trapper's broad shoulders and step into them. He remains kneeling as he pulls the trousers up Hawkeye's legs in a lingering slide, the fine wool the faintest tease against his bare skin. And Hawkeye is having trouble remembering why he'd been nervous - or anything at all, really.

"You know, maybe I ought to just call in sick anyway, Trapper. Stay home with you." Hawkeye has to take a deep breath when Trapper does up his fly. His problem definitely isn't cold feet anymore.

Trapper stands, grinning, and wraps the silk tie gently around Hawkeye's throat. "Nah, you made a promise to help and you oughtta honor it." Trapper snugs the knot against the base of Hawkeye's throat and smooths the tie flat. "Besides, I'm looking forward to doing all this in reverse when you get home. And I can't spend the evening in anticipation if you never leave."

Trapper gently tilts Hawkeye's chin and kisses him. Then he presses kisses to each of Hawkeye's palms as he places the showy gold cufflinks Charles had insisted on.

"I suppose there's something to be said for drawing things out," Hawkeye says, a little breathless. "But not too much, I don't want to actually be late."

Trapper grins and helps Hawkeye into the waistcoat. "Glad you're seeing things my way." His hands linger a little as he does up the buttons. "And I made sure I had plenty of time to get you ready." Trapper steps back and his eyes rake over Hawkeye's body. "Made sure I had time to appreciate my efforts."

Hawkeye looks at himself in the mirror. He's never been a fan of three-piece-suits, finds them stifling and restrictive. But he can sure appreciate what a close-cut vest does for Trapper's physique.

Hawkeye's built along different lines, though. Rather than emphasizing broad shoulders and a strong chest, the waistcoat pulls him into a sort of hourglass shape. He looks slender and delicate and _pretty_ in a way that the boxy trousers and suit jackets currently in vogue usually hide. And he'll have to hide this under a jacket too - Charles would pitch a fit if he showed up half dressed - but he may just try to find an excuse to wear the vest, and only the vest, in the future. The way Trapper's looking at him, he wouldn't mind it either.

And then Trapper's helping Hawkeye into the suit jacket, doing up the buttons, adjusting the handkerchief. When Trapper places his hands on Hawkeye's shoulders and pushes him gently down to sit on the bed before kneeling to help Hawkeye into his shoes, he can't help but run a hand through Trapper's curls. And Trapper looks up at him, smiling, and presses a soft kiss to the inside of Hawkeye's thigh just behind the knee.

They stay like that for a while, Trapper resting his forehead against Hawkeye's thigh while Hawkeye gently cards through his hair. It's quiet, peaceful. And then there's a knock on the door and it's Charles's driver come to collect him.

* * *

Hawkeye tries to hold on to that sense of peace as he's thrust into the genteel insanity of a high-society blind date. The main area for the party is a riot of color and noise - compounded by the echoing glass ceiling. And Hawkeye doesn't know anybody here except for Charles, who is obligated to pay almost undivided attention to his date.

Fortunately, Hawkeye is saved by the arrival of Honoria Winchester, who - despite all of Charles's stories of her wild past - is a sedate companion. And Hawkeye can slip into the rote mechanics of escorting her to their table, pulling out her chair, and complementing her appearance. He may just get through this evening all right after all.

And then Charles's date opens her mouth.

* * *

"How was the party?" Trapper asks as Hawkeye slips through the front door.

He's reading on the couch and the radio's on softly in the background. Hawkeye is grateful for the calm - even if this isn't quite how he'd expected to be welcomed home after all of Trapper's talk of anticipation and promises to undress him.

He raises a quizzical eyebrow at Trapper.

"Business before pleasure, Hawkeye. How'd everything go?"

Hawkeye flops down on the sofa next to Trapper with a put upon sigh. "Some hedonist you are."

He pokes Trapper in the side but he just looks expectantly at Hawkeye.

"Ok, fine. The party was all right - though rich people sure eat weird food. And Honoria is a delight. We definitely ended up being friends with the wrong Winchester - though it's probably too late to swap them out. But we did our jobs of being mildly objectionable and kind of feeling out Charles's date on things. Although we didn't really need to bother, since she pretty much aired every strange and bigoted opinion you could think of all on her own. And when she wasn't complaining about immigrants diluting the purity of good Anglo-American stock, she was criticizing the decor. Charles looked like he was about ready to throw her in the fish pond halfway through the second course - and I'm kind of sorry he didn't."

Trapper snorts. "That's almost impressive."

"Yeah, she must have cleaned up at the time trials for Olympic snobbery." Then Hawkeye grins. "But we found out, during one of her spiels about dirty foreigners, that she's absolutely terrified of catching a - quote - heathen jungle malady. And wouldn't you know, the conservatory has a room all done up like a little jungle. We went for a stroll there after dinner and Honoria kept asking about the various exotic diseases we treated in Korea and if we could get them from the room. And Charles did a very unconvincing job of reassuring her that there was no way she would be able to contract them in the States. And Charles's date just kept getting paler and paler and complaining of various symptoms. By the time Honoria asked her if her complexion was normally so yellow, she was ready to cut the evening short and lock herself in a sanatorium. Frankly, I hope she keeps herself quarantined for a good long while just so nobody else has to listen to her."

"And hopefully Charles's next candidate for Mrs. Emerson Winchester isn't such a dud," Trapper says. "I want my own turn at being a nuisance."

Hawkeye snuggles a little further into Trapper's side and bats his eyelashes. "Speaking of duds, I'm really ready to get out of these fancy clothes. And I think you promised to help with that."

Trapper grins. "You sure got a one track mind, Hawkeye. But I like the direction it's going." He ushers Hawkeye up the stairs and into the bedroom.


	16. Chapter 16

"Sorry you're being subjected to Maine in February - it's not exactly at its best under four feet of snow."

Steve grins. "At least I'll know what I'm getting into."

Hawkeye is heading up to Crabapple Cove with Steve Newsome to see if he wants to take over the family practice. And maybe it's not primarily a social call, but after weeks of dining with debutantes, Hawkeye is looking forward to seeing his dad - and the rest of Crabapple Cove, which will inevitably drop in once word of a stranger in town goes around. After all, even the most avid gossip in town is refreshingly down-to-earth compared to Boston high society.

Hawkeye smiles back. "I'll make sure to do a thorough job of introducing you to Crabapple Cove's myriad delights. Including some very lovely young ladies who would be delighted at a handsome young doctor moving into town."

"Hawkeye Pierce, matchmaker - I never would have guessed." Then Steve pauses. "I really do appreciate you showing me around. And letting me kind of take your place in your dad's practice. Are you sure you're ok with this?"

Hawkeye moves closer to Steve, hoping for a little privacy for what he's about to disclose. The lady on the opposite bench has been eying them since they left Boston.

"I don't know what Sidney told you about me, if anything. But I spent a couple of weeks at the Tokyo funny farm at the end of the war. I'd witnessed something pretty terrible and it shook me. Bad. Though I didn't realize that for a while - not till Sidney helped me figure it out. And while I was locked up in that little room - and later, while I was being literally shipped home - I had a lot of time to think about who I was and what I wanted to do once I was back home."

"I know the feeling," Steve says wryly. His own experience in a psych ward is one of the reasons Hawkeye is willing to tell him all of this. He can understand.

"I couldn't go home, Steve. I'd changed so much, but everyone there - people who'd known me since I was a kid - wouldn't be able to understand that. They'd want me to be the Hawkeye they knew from before. And I just can't be him anymore." Then Hawkeye grins. "So really, you're doing me a favor here, if you accept. Not to mention, you'll hopefully distract the hordes of women who keep trying to marry me."

Steve laughs. "What a difficult life you must lead - Crabapple Cove's most eligible bachelor."

* * *

Hawkeye's dad picks them up from the train station and drives them to his office in the center of town. Steve is grateful because, as vicious as Chicago winters can get, they don't usually involve this much snow. And it's nice to get a look at the town he might end up living in.

Crabapple Cove is a far cry from anything he's used to, but Steve thinks it has a certain charm. And about as much peace and quiet as he could ask for without moving to Antarctica. Hopefully he'll be able to sleep through the night here.

Dr. Pierce's practice impresses Steve. The office is small but well organized and scrupulously clean. Even at Tokyo, Steve doesn't think he's seen an OR so spotless.

When he says as much to Dr. Pierce, he just laughs and says, "This here's practically a floor model. Only a few thousand miles on her. And, knock on wood, it'll never have to see much more than a tonsillectomy."

That sounds pretty nice to Steve after so much meatball surgery. He raps his knuckles on the door frame. "I suppose Hawkeye already mentioned this, but I'm at a general practice now, so I can't say that's a disappointment."

Dr. Pierce nods. "Seems like all Korea managed to do was talk people out of being surgeons. Not that I can blame you for wanting a less exciting career."

Steve laughs. "I've had about as much excitement as I care to, courtesy of the front lines. I'm looking forward to a few decades of treating the common cold."

"Well, you've come to the right place, then. We have a few farming or boating accidents every year, but it's largely births, deaths, and routine ailments."

Then Dr. Pierce strides into the front lobby where Hawkeye is lounging sideways in a chair, reading Good Housekeeping.

"Tell you what, Steve, how about you take the lead on any cases that come in here today. Might help you get a better feel for the place. He flips open an appointment book on the receptionist's desk. "Looks like we've got a couple of general physicals, an unidentified cough, and whoever else wanders in - I'm sure your presence here will be a draw in of itself."

"That sounds fine to me," Steve says.

If he's going to stay here, he may as well start getting to know his patients. And it will probably give him some insight into working with Dr. Pierce as well. Steve's first impression of the man is genial good humor - with a sense of mischief underneath. It's fairly clear where Hawkeye got his sense of humor.

Speaking of Hawkeye, "Do you mind waiting while I take a shift here, Hawkeye? You can introduce me to anyone who doesn't show up to the office afterwards."

"Sounds fine to me, Steve. It'll give me a chance to catch up on all the local news." Hawkeye grins at the receptionist. "Gloria here is better informed about the goings on in Crabapple Cove than the paper."

With that settled, Steve falls into the familiar routine of treating patients. While some of the older folks seem a little unsure at being treated by a young whipper-snapper, Dr. Pierce's presence in the exam room convinces them to give him a chance. And Steve thinks he does well enough to prove his ability. He won't be run out of town, at least.

And apparently the news of a mysterious stranger in town has spread because the office is inundated with gawkers and look-sees. Many of whom happen to be single young ladies. And Hawkeye appears committed to playing matchmaker because he gives Steve a discrete rundown of all the women he even glances twice at.

Dr. Pierce must notice as well, because he asks, "Looking at a career change to marriage broker, Hawkeye?"

Hawkeye laughs. "This is all Charles's fault. He has me helping him find a wife - some sort of rich person inheritance deal."

"And is he, uh, aware of why you might not be the best person to help with that?" Hawkeye's dad appears to be holding back a laugh.

"My terminal bachelorhood was brought up, yes. But he's not asking for introductions, just wants me to make sure the future Mrs. Emerson Winchester III isn't an outright bigot. Plus, I got to be friends with Charles's sister Honoria out of the deal, so it's worth rubbing elbows with a bunch of snobs."

Steve laughs. "I can't even begin to imagine what Charles's sister is like."

"Well, she's got more hair, for one thing. She's actually something of a revolutionary, if you can believe that. Hosts a kind of salon for artists and philosophers and those sorts of people. Still too posh for little old me, but it means she's a good conversationalist, at least."

"Strange to think of a Winchester as a revolutionary," Steve comments idly. "To hear Charles talk, you'd think they'd all sprung fully formed from a safe deposit box rather than a normal birth. Still, I appreciate you putting your newfound skills at meddling to good use - I may even remember a few of the hordes I was introduced to."

Hawkeye laughs. "Yeah, pretty much the whole town made it out to see you - I won't even need to introduce you around now. And you held up well under the deluge. I'll make you up a review packet if you decide to stay."

"I think that's up to Dr. Pierce," Steve says. "But from what I've seen, this is pretty much exactly where I'm looking to end up."

"Well, I'm more than ready to hire you, Steve," Dr. Pierce claps a hand on his shoulder. "You're obviously qualified - and I think young Ms. Baxter would murder me if I didn't offer you the position."

Steve looks quizzically at Hawkeye.

"He means Millie," Hawkeye stage whispers. "The brunette with the freckles."

Dr. Pierce continues on, as if he hadn't been interrupted by his son. "We can hash out all the details later, but it's been a long day - how about some dinner?"

So they head back to the Pierce house and it's about what Steve pictured when he thought of Maine - small and wooden and painted a dark gray. The house is set among tall pines and surrounded by heaping drifts of snow. Behind the house, Steve can see the flat gray ocean where it crashes in white peaks against the craggy rocks. It's not a particularly inviting image, if he's being honest.

But the inside of the house is warm and cozy. They sit at a worn kitchen table and eat a hearty stew that warms Steve right down to his socks. And the evening whiles away with laughter and stories and cards. This. This is the kind of life Steve wants. Quiet, peaceful, and full of laughter.

Steve goes to bed in Hawkeye's old room - and isn't that just a hoot, getting that glimpse into Hawkeye's childhood - and Steve feels like he can _rest_ here, in this house, in this little town in Maine.

* * *

Steve's gone up to bed already, but Hawkeye stays up, wanting a chance to catch up with his dad. They see each other infrequently enough that Hawkeye treasures every hour - letters and phone calls just aren't the same.

They sit by the fireplace in the darkened living room and Hawkeye talks about how things are at the clinic and how his friends are doing and about the knitting group he's joined - along with an anti-war protest group that he doesn't tell his dad about, not wanting to worry him, having already talked Charles into posting bail if necessary. Hawkeye's taken Sidney's advice about extending his social circle and it has helped him feel a little more connected to the people around him. 

Hawkeye's dad listens attentively to all of it. But it seems like there's something on his mind. Hawkeye's content to sit in warm silence till his dad's ready to talk, but it's not long before he speaks up.

"Are you happy, Hawkeye?"

All this stuff with Steve must have made his dad a little unsure. After all, the parallels between the two of them are pretty obvious. Even if they're moving in opposite directions to find a new life.

"Yeah, Dad, I'm happy. I won't lie, the holidays were a little rough - just due to all the pressure and expectation around them, I think. But Sidney and I talked a little - just talked, he gives good non-psychiatric advice too - and that helped a lot. But I'm... I'm where I want to be, surrounded by a lot of the people I want to be around. And away from a lot of the people I don't want to be around - namely the United States Army."

Hawkeye's dad nods consideringly. "And John. Is John happy?"

"Yeah, Dad, Trapper's happy too."

"Good. That's good." A pause. "I was so worried about you, Hawkeye, you and all your friends you used to write me about. Comes of being a parent, I suppose. You never lose that fear that something will happen to your child and - and you won't be able to protect them. And there you were, across an ocean and smack dab in the middle of a war zone.

Then the war was over and you were coming home - after three years of worry, you were coming back to me. Safe and sound.

But you got hurt over there. All you boys did, you and John and Steve - Tommy. And there was nothing I could have done to prevent it, nothing I can do to fix it now. So I'm glad to hear that you've been able to mend things for yourselves."

Hawkeye leans forward to look his dad in the eye. "You've helped me more than I can say - both when I was over there and now that I'm back home. And you helped Trapper too, when he thought I was dead. And you're helping Steve right now." Hawkeye pauses. "I don't know that there's any fixing how I or Steve or Trapper got hurt. We're never going to be who we were before - but that doesn't mean that we can't be happy in who we are now."

"I love you, Ben, however you are."

"I love you too, Dad."

They fall back into a comfortable silence, Hawkeye enjoying the warmth of the fire and the familiarity of sitting here like this. He and his dad used to while away a lot of winter evenings in front of the fire, reading or listening to the radio or talking. But it's late, and Hawkeye is suddenly very tired, so he heads up to bed before too long.


	17. Chapter 17

Winchester has apparently finished the first round of interviews for potential wives - and now it's Trapper's turn to cause some chaos. He still thinks the whole thing is stupid and a terrible idea, but as long as he gets to be the one laughing at Winchester when he gets egg on his face, he's willing to help out.

It's not as if he's the kinda guy to believe in true love or any of that bullshit. But it's just that this way of finding a wife feels like a game show, like it oughtta be televised and have a studio audience. And the argument could be made that Trapper's own marriage ended in divorce so what the hell does he know. But Trapper thinks that his own failed marriage might just stand as an argument against rushing into a relationship to fulfill expectations instead of outta a genuine sense of partnership with the other person. At least Winchester is waiting until after the huge, terrible, life-changing event to get hitched.

Still, Trapper ain't one to turn down an opportunity for mischief just cuz he don't agree one hundred percent with the plan. If that were the case, he woulda got into a lot less trouble - especially cuz most of the time Hawkeye didn't even have a plan besides a vague idea of sticking it to the army. But Winchester's plan ain't much more fleshed out, considering that it basically consists of Trapper being himself and seeing if that makes any of the fancy rich ladies run screaming from the room in horror at his lower-classness.

Surprisingly, that's pretty much what happens with the first lady - though Trapper ain't the one that causes it. They - minus Honoria - are all meeting up at some posh restaurant and when Winchester's date walks into the private dining room and sees Letta, it looks like she'd french kissed a lemon. Trapper kinda directs Letta behind him, just in case things get ugly, but hers seems to be an incoherently sputtering kinda rage.

Charles declares their date over and stiffly escorts her outta the room. When he comes back, it's to get real drunk and call her all kindsa posh people insults like "uncouth" and apologizes to Letta, who leaves pretty quick after that. Trapper can't blame her, he wants to make his own escape, but Charles probably shouldn't be left alone right now. So he and Hawkeye have a really expensive dinner on Winchester's tab and eventually talk him around to pleasanter topics - namely the many failings of the Boston Mercy board of directors - till he's ok to go home.

So Trapper ain't exactly looking forward to doing all that again. Though it can't turn out much worse than the first go round, and that's a relief.

The bad part is that this time the deal is being held at the Winchester house in Back Bay - a place Trapper swore he'd have to be dragged into kicking and screaming. And the house is monstrous - clearly built to intimidate rather than welcome. The entryway is a soaring cathedral of white marble - and, like a church, the echos of his footsteps make Trapper feel real small. Plus there's all these unnaturally silent servants hovering in the background, waiting to be called for. It gives Trapper the creeps.

One of the servants leads them into a stupidly opulent sitting room where Letta and Honoria are waiting. It's a little intimidating, meeting Winchester's sister. But polite chatter with rich women he has no interest in is something Trapper knows how to do. Something he'd learned through an unfortunate number of sorority mixers he'd been dragged to by dint of being the Dartmouth football captain. It's how he'd met Louise, actually - and now Trapper's pissed that Winchester couldn't have met a wife that way and saved them all this trouble. But instead he's stuck here, waiting for Winchester's date to show up so they can eat dinner.

At least Honoria proves to be as much fun as Hawkeye had said - full of embarrassing childhood stories Winchester will probably go to the grave denying ever happened. And Letta has some stories about her kids, and she and him and Hawkeye talk shop a little - none of the gory stuff, outta consideration for Honoria - and Honoria talks about an exhibit she's helping curate about women's suffrage that Letta has _opinions_ about, so the time passes well enough. But it gets to be late enough that Trapper wonders if Winchester's been stood up. Cuz there's a line between fashionably late and just plain rude.

Finally, Winchester comes to get them, his date on his arm. And she's pretty, all right - but maybe a little younger than Trapper was expecting from Hawkeye's description. And Hawkeye and Honoria look a little surprised to see her as well. Maybe they didn't figure she'd make the cut. But they're polite through the introductions.

To her credit, Miss Marjory Oakes doesn't seem taken aback at Letta or Trapper's presence. So dinner goes well enough, with them kinda feeling out her politics. And she's honestly probably more liberal than Winchester - who's suspension of bigotry tents to be more individual than anything. He can stand being friends with some of "the good ones" without ever bothering to wonder if the rest might just be human too. In contrast, Miss Oaks appears to be a fairly progressive individual - even if it's like how most rich people are and centered around helping all those poor unfortunates by throwing charity galas - but she ain't condescending to him or Letta and appears genuinely interested in what they and Hawkeye have to say. Trapper wonders how the hell she survived almost two decades of fancy private school with her humanity intact.

Dinner's over and they've returned to the sitting room they'd waited in before. Miss _Marjory_ Oakes has gone home so Hawkeye feels no shame in saying, "Excuse me for asking, Charles, but who the hell was that? I'm pretty sure she's not the Miss Oakes we went to the opera with several weeks ago. What gives?"

Charles sighs. "Indeed she is not the same woman. Miss Oakes the elder, who attended the opera, was _indisposed_ this evening."

"Run off with another fellah, huh," Letta comments dryly.

"Quite. However, Miss Marjory Oakes is just finished with her art history degree and her parents are... eager... to see her married suitably. She has apparently had some rather ungenteel acquaintances as of late, and her father is concerned she may marry into the middle class."

"How terrible," Trapper deadpans.

"You simply must do everything in your power to rescue her from such a horrible fate," Hawkeye adds in a mockery of Charles's accent.

"St-st-still, I quite liked her," Honoria says. "I'm almost glad her sister th-th-threw you over."

"Indeed." Then Charles blushes. "I hope to call upon the lovely Miss Oakes, if she will allow me that honor. And if I hand't already made promises to several other young ladies, I would end this interview process at once."

"You might wanna think about coming clean about this whole inheritance deal," Trapper says. "She sure seems like a good sport and if she's looking to get out from under family expectation, she might not mind a quick wooing." Hawkeye can't help but think Trapper's advice is influenced by his own marriage ending.

"You may be right at that, McIntyre. In any event, Miss Oakes deserves to hear the truth of things before deciding if she wishes to hear from me again. I would not do her the dishonor of misleading her."

"You're such a pompous wh-wh-windbag, Charlie," Honoria says with a grin.

"But that's what we love about you," Hawkeye adds.

* * *

Charles is.. nervous.. when he calls on Miss Oakes the next day. She really seems an exemplary woman - and one that Charles could see himself with for many years. A partner, rather than simply a method to acquire an heir and an occasional ornament for his arm. Additionally, the information he's about to divulge doesn't paint himself or his family in the best light.

He is allowed into the receiving room nearly immediately, and that indicates she holds him in some regard - and that knowledge serves to sooth Charles's nerves a bit. There is, of course, a chaperone present - anything else would be an impropriety - but she is sitting across the room, allowing at least a semblance of privacy. Still, Charles will need to use some... discretion in explaining the situation.

After the requisite greetings, he gets right into the reason for his visit. "My dear Miss Oakes. I greatly enjoyed your company last evening and I would be honored if you would deign to join me for more such outings."

"I had a lovely time as well, Dr. Winchester. I found your friends most engaging and your sister - I shall be delighted to strike up a friendship with her." Here Miss Oakes pauses delicately. "And if we are to continue our own friendship, _Charles_ , you had best call me Marjory."

This visit is going better than Charles had dared hope. An invitation to use Marjory's first name - and her expressed desire for a continued relationship with Charles and his family. He only hopes the next ultimatum he must deliver does not revoke her goodwill.

"You do me a great honor, Marjory, in considering me a friend. It is in this spirit of friendship that I must make the following disclosure - for I would not disrespect your character with falsehoods - not even by omission."

Here Marjory looks quite serious but she has not asked Charles to leave or shown any signs of anger or upset. So he continues on.

"As you are aware, the Emerson Winchesters are an old and prestigious family with a substantial _legacy_. In the interest of preserving that legacy, my family hopes I shall be engaged by the summer. Otherwise, it may fall to other branches of the family to carry out that duty. I am most genuinely impressed by your character, your wit, and your beauty - my attentions are in no way solely directed by my family. But you must understand that this expectation does rather weigh on my mind."

Marjory lays a genteel hand on Charles's arm. "I quite understand your situation, Charles, and I commiserate. All of us must bear the weight of familial duty and expectation. Indeed, my own family should like to see me make a suitable match sooner rather than later."

"I am certainly not ready to become engaged this instant," Marjory continues, "but this information does not dissuade me from seeing you again, Charles. Indeed, I think it speaks well of your character that you have disclosed such a sensitive topic in order not to mislead me." She smiles most warmly at Charles. It looks like McIntyre was in the right about making a full disclosure.

"In that case, Marjory, may I escort you to the art museum next Tuesday? Honoria will be available to chaperone." That last bit is directed to their current chaperone, who smiles when Charles makes eye contact with her.

"I should be delighted to accompany you," Marjory says and Charles departs her home in high spirits.

Charles is almost glad that the remaining... interviews... with potential brides are a waste of his time. One young lady - and Charles feels she is barely deserving of that epithet when judged under any other criteria than family legacy - treats the household staff so poorly that it is embarrassing to witness. The evening ends when a pudding is _accidentally_ upset over her lap as she is being served. And Charles can perhaps detect the hands of Pierce and McIntyre in the event, but he cannot express any disapproval over it. If she never steps foot in his home again, Charles will be most glad.

The rest of the candidates do not fare so poorly as her. They are simply boring after the eloquence and charm of Miss Oakes. Charles is pleased when the entire list of young women Grandmama provided is exhausted and he can concentrate on wooing Marjory. Because Marjory is not simply the best option on a list he's forced by circumstance to choose from - she is rapidly becoming the woman Charles would give almost anything to get to spend the rest of his life with.

Still, Charles does hope she accepts his marriage proposal before the Winchester summer cotillion. Cousin Alfred is such a blight on the family name. Not to mention, Charles would like to be able to offer Marjory the world - and the Emerson Winchester fortune would certainly aid in that goal.

* * *

"Well, Charles certainly seems to be in a good mood," Hawkeye says after the subject of his remark has gone home from poker night.

"Spring," Trapper declaims, "the time when a young aristocrat's fancies turn to thoughts of love - or inheritance, as the case may be."

"Is there a difference in those emotions?" Letta asks, a little snidely. She hadn't been all that impressed with Winchester's plight.

"To be fair to Charles, he does appear to actually care about Miss Oakes. And for whatever reason, she appears to like _him_. So it may be a marriage more convenient than most, but they'll hopefully be able to actually stand living together.

"And if it don't work out, Winchester's got about one wing of mansion per family member, so they won't even have to see one another if they don't want," Trapper adds.

Hawkeye raises his glass in a toast. "To true love - as found in the pages of the financial report."


	18. Chapter 18

“Hey Trapper, BJ's going to be on the East Coast for some talk at Johns Hopkins in a couple weeks. He wants to come up for a visit the first weekend in May – that ok with you?”

Trapper shrugs. “Fine by me. I work that Saturday, but he ain't here to see _me_.”

“Still, I'd like the two of you to meet. And Charles will want to see BJ – even if he won't admit it.”

“Wanna hold a poker game? That's what we usually do for 4077 reunions.” Trapper is pretty sure BJ plays – he could hardly have made it over a year in the Swamp without learning.

Hawkeye's grin turns sharp. “I'll book the back room – you just make sure Charles brings his checkbook.”

“Why? You got another clinic needs funding?”

“A little extra endowment never hurt anybody.” Hawkeye leers at Trapper's crotch.

“God, Hawkeye, you're such a fucking size queen,” Trapper teases.

“And it's all your fault, _Big John_.” Hawkeye strokes Trapper through his pants and the discussion of BJ's impending visit gets tabled for a while.

One extremely satisfactory sexual encounter later, Trapper returns to the topic at hand.

“You still planning to bunk with me during BJ's visit? Or do you and him wanna have a little slumber party?”

Hawkeye laughs. “As much as I might like to play spin the bottle with BJ, it would be a terrible idea. He's _married_ married. And I won't fuck that up, no matter how I feel about him – or his muscles or his stupid mustache.”

“You still love him, though. And for more than just the mustache.” Hawkeye had been pretty open about carrying a torch for the guy, even if nothing ever came of it.

Hawkeye sighs. “Yeah, I do. But BJ's in relationships for the long haul; he wouldn't be interested in a casual fling. I guess that rubbed off on me, even if – tragically – no other part of him did. And I could never move to California – I don't meet the required levels of tanned jockishness – so it looks like you're stuck with me, Trapper.”

“I've never been so grateful for your pasty unathleticism,” Trapper teases. Then he cups Hawkeye's face. “And I'm glad you and BJ have this chance to meet up.”

Hawkeye smiles. “Me too. I've really missed the guy.”

* * *

BJ gets to Hawkeye's house late enough that everything seems molasses stretched and slightly unreal – or that could just be the couple drinks he had at the airport bar between flights, or the couple drinks he had on each flight, or... The point is, when Hawkeye opens the door – before BJ even has a chance to ring the bell, so he must have been waiting up for him – BJ can hardly believe this moment is real. But there Hawkeye is, framed in the glow of the doorway, wearing pajamas and a very familiar robe, looking a little tired but relaxed and happy in a way BJ's never seen before, not even on R&R. Looking so beautifully, perfectly real.

Then Hawkeye smiles at him, soft and warm – and before BJ can even register his own actions, he's hugging Hawkeye right there on the doorstep, clutching at him desperately.

Hawkeye hugs him back, laughs softly in BJ's ear, and says, “It's nice to see you too, Beej.” Then he pulls back a little. “C'mon, let's get inside. We've given the neighbors enough of a show.”

BJ follows Hawkeye into the house, barely registering anything beyond the man in front of him. He's missed Hawkeye so much, jumping at the first chance to see him again, no matter that Boston wasn't really close to Baltimore at all. And now that he's here, BJ just enjoys soaking up the sight of Hawkeye – happy and safe and _happy_ – saving up the image for when he gets back home.

But now Hawkeye's saying something, so BJ struggles back to awareness.

“... sure you're tired after such a long trip and we have plenty of time to catch up tomorrow. I'll show you where you're sleeping.”

BJ is led up the stairs and into a bedroom – Hawkeye's judging by the nick-knacks on the dresser – and that makes BJ wonder where exactly Hawkeye is sleeping since he leaves the room after saying goodnight. But that mystery goes unsolved. BJ is tired enough – and buzzed enough – that he's barely under the covers before he falls asleep.

* * *

BJ wakes up late the next morning – nearly noon according to the clock on the side table – and he could kick himself for missing out on so much time with Hawkeye. But he's awake now, and can start to make up for it.

BJ rushes downstairs to find Hawkeye – an apology for sleeping in already halfway out – but Hawkeye just smiles.

“Morning, BJ. I can see that liking to sleep in wasn't just a Korea thing. Want some breakfast?” Hawkeye checks his watch. “Or brunch, I suppose.”

“I could eat. And I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee, either.”

BJ follows Hawkeye into the cheerful, tidy kitchen of his cheerful, tidy house and sits down at the little table while Hawkeye stands at the stove and it's all so _weird_. Weird seeing Hawkeye in a house that looks like it could have come right from a spread in Better Homes and Gardens. Weird watching as Hawkeye cooks breakfast and sets the table and generally acts like he's some paragon of domesticity.

BJ's attempt to reconcile this strange new version of Hawkeye is interrupted by his sliding a plate and mug BJ's direction before sitting across from him at the table with his own food. Hawkeye's just sitting there, drinking his coffee like all of this is _normal_. Like he isn't the half-wild prankster of the 4077 who used to leave his dirty socks everywhere.

BJ searches desperately for a topic of conversation that doesn't start with “What the hell _happened_ to you?” but it's Hawkeye who gets the conversation going.

“I see you shaved the mustache,” Hawkeye says, a teasing glint in his eye. “Peg put her foot down about it?”

BJ laughs, relieved they're back on familiar ground. “Pretty much. And there's not much point to sticking it to the army when you're a civilian.”

“Very true.” Hawkeye pauses to eat a bite of eggs - happily without smelling them first. “Although the habit of not saluting has stuck with me.”

“Not much use for it in a medical context – even if some of the doctors I worked for during residency would have probably loved it.” Some of them had been almost as authoritarian as Frank Burns.

Hawkeye smiles. “I don't know, the kids would probably be amused by a salute. I've had at least three come through who want to be pirates when they grow up – though that's a different branch of the service entirely.”

And they spend the next few hours shooting the shit about work and and family. It's nice; familiar. Give BJ a glass of terrible gin and he could be back in the Swamp.

That's another weird thing – the lack of alcohol. If this were Korea, they'd both be three sheets to the wind by now. BJ doesn't even see a liquor cabinet in the house.

But even with all the differences, BJ has a great time catching up with Hawkeye – and catching Hawkeye up on his own life. Not that he hasn't spent every letter telling Hawkeye all about Peg and Erin, but it's different doing it in person. He can see Hawkeye's expressions, hear his laugh, feel him sitting pressed up against his side.

Then Trapper John comes home. And all of Hawkeye's attention is suddenly focused on him.

“You're home late. Tough day at the office, dear?”

“Like you wouldn't believe. Ten minutes before I'm scheduled to leave, a guy comes in with half his guts hanging out. I wasn't gonna leave that to Dobbs – he'd let the guy bleed out while he deliberated over what stitch to use – so I stayed late. And then I went to the gym and Brian wanted to go a few rounds, so I got outta there late too. Sorry for the hold up - I'll get started on dinner in a minute.”

Then Trapper catches sight of BJ. “Hi BJ, nice to finally meet you after all of Hawkeye's stories.”

They shake hands.

“I've heard a lot about you too, Trapper.” Boy has he ever. First from everyone at the 4077 while in Korea and now from Hawkeye, who could hardly go ten minutes without mentioning something Trapper thought or said or did. Not that BJ was counting.

Trapper grins at Hawkeye. “You telling tales out of school, Hawk?”

“I would never!” Hawkeye exclaims. “Now why don't you go make us dinner and we can all tell embarrassing stories about each other and Charles. Mostly Charles.”

So they all troop into the kitchen to chat while Trapper cooks. And BJ is struck again by how weirdly domestic it all is. Trapper John McIntyre – inveterate womanizer and gin guzzler – is putting a roast in the oven while _wearing an apron_ and Hawkeye is treating this like it's a normal occurrence.

BJ feels like he's been transported into some bizarre alternate universe.

But Trapper does offer him a real drink, finally. And they're apparently all going to a poker game with Charles later, so that's familiar ground at least. And dinner is good. The food is great, actually – better than some of the stuff Peg had made when they'd first gotten married.

And BJ's liquored up enough that conversation with Trapper isn't stilted, even though Hawkeye seems to be focusing more on eating than talking – another difference from Korea. It helps that Trapper's asking BJ about his experience building that first ever defibrillator in Korea – the topic of his talk at Johns Hopkins. BJ rehashes his lecture and Trapper asks insightful questions about ways to refine the device – more than some of the doctors at his lecture had been able to manage. It's obvious the man is a skilled surgeon – as much as it burns BJ to admit it.

But Trapper doesn't rub it in BJ's face or anything. Just listens to BJ's answers and then says, “I'm excited to see how it develops from here – anything that keeps us ER docs from having to do open heart massages is worth a whole lotta accolades in my book.”

“And how does Peg feel about your new found notoriety?” Hawkeye finally chimes in. “You told me she liked the quiet life – and now you're published in the AMA and on the lecture circuit. You've really hit the big time.”

BJ laughs. “She's been pretty happy despite all the hoopla. I didn't want to tell you about this until it was settled, Hawk, but I've been asked to take up a research and teaching position at Stanford. I guess all those AMA articles got the dean's attention.” BJ can't help but sound a little proud of that. It's a big accomplishment for a guy just out of residency.

Then BJ breaks out into a wide grin. “It'll mean I'm home nights and weekends. And since Peg's expecting again, she's all for that.”

“BJ! Congratulations! On two counts.” Hawkeye wraps him in a hug.

Trapper offers his own congratulations and then asks after Erin and they spend a while swapping kid pictures, and that's pretty nice. They'll probably never be best friends, but BJ can get along with Trapper if that's what it takes to see Hawkeye. It's pretty obvious they're close friends what with how they're sitting pressed up against one another on the couch as they all have coffee and dessert.

It's not like BJ expected any different – Hawkeye always invaded BJ's personal space. But it's a little strange to look at it from the outside, to see Hawkeye practically sitting in Trapper's lap as he turns to talk to BJ. To see Hawkeye lean back against Trapper's chest and to see Trapper reshape his own body to fit Hawkeye.

Had they – had Hawkeye and BJ looked like that when they sat together? Had BJ smiled at Hawkeye like that – so soft and warm and... BJ doesn't know. He may have had too much to drink.

Fortunately, they head off to the bar soon enough. And Charles joins them for a poker game and it's a good distraction from BJ's thoughts about Hawkeye and Trapper and Hawkeye-and-Trapper.

The game is fun, and it's nice to catch up with his other former Swamp-mate. But Charles is still the same pompous windbag from Korea – even if his infatuation with his new girlfriend seems to have softened him somewhat. So BJ isn't too disgruntled when Hawkeye starts yawning ostentatiously and they head back to the house and bed.

BJ is a lot more disgruntled when they get home and the mystery of where Hawkeye is sleeping gets solved. Because it turns out that he's sleeping in Trapper's room. Trapper's room with one bed. Trapper's room with one bed with Trapper also in it.

And now BJ is back to thinking about how close they were sitting on the couch earlier. How close they probably are now – laying together in bed. BJ can imagine it in excruciating detail – Hawkeye's head resting on Trapper's chest, their legs tangled together, Hawkeye whispering a soft goodnight into Trapper's BJ's _Trapper's_ skin.

“Goddammit,” BJ whispers as he scrubs at his eyes. As if that could make the image go away.

He lays awake for a long time, staring blindly at the ceiling.

* * *

BJ wakes up to a door closing somewhere in the house. Hawkeye and Trapper are clearly awake, so BJ stumbles out of Hawkeye's room and down the stairs. He pauses at the entrance to the kitchen – just out of sight of Trapper, who's lounging against the counter, grinning at a laughing Hawkeye.

BJ is still haunted by the image of Hawkeye and Trapper sleeping together and it's maybe bleeding into how he sees their interactions now. Surely Trapper's gaze isn't that heated. Surely Hawkeye doesn't mean to angle his body so invitingly. But BJ doesn't know. And he _needs_ to know, needs to understand what's going on here between Hawkeye and Trapper – between Hawkeye and himself – so he watches.

Watches as Hawkeye and Trapper dance around one another in the kitchen as they get breakfast ready. Watches as Trapper directs Hawkeye out of his way with a hand on his hip or the small of his back. Watches as Hawkeye pops a grape into Trapper's mouth.

And BJ is even more confused. Because they're all things that he and Hawkeye have done – or close to, anyway. But seeing things from the outside, it all just looks so _intimate_. Like husband and wife. And that makes BJ wonder how he and Hawkeye had looked doing those kinds of things.

There's a sharp twist of anxiety in BJ's guts and he can't think about this anymore. So he makes some noise to announce his presence before joining Hawkeye and Trapper in the kitchen. And Hawkeye and Trapper don't change their behavior any when BJ's walks in, so there must not be any deeper meaning behind it.

It's a relief, really it is.

They eat breakfast – the famous Pierce family French toast, according to Hawkeye – and that's normal enough. BJ no longer feels like he's going to hurl, at any rate. Then they spend more time chatting in the living room, a knitting Hawkeye sandwiched between BJ and Trapper.

BJ is almost glad of Trapper's presence today – he's not feeling all that capable of conversation this morning, too caught up in his own thoughts. Too busy counting up the intimate moments between Trapper and Hawkeye – and comparing them to moments he and Hawkeye have shared. Too busy trying to figure out what it all means.

And then it's time to say goodbye. BJ doesn't let himself feel self conscious when he wraps Hawkeye in a clinging hug. He misses him already.

But that's a little sappy, so all BJ says is, “Goodbye, Hawk. Thanks for letting me come visit – and if you're ever on the West Coast, don't be a stranger.”

“Bye, BJ.” Hawkeye smiles warmly at him and it's like standing in the sun. “Thanks for stopping by; it was good to see you.”

It's an easier goodbye than Korea, but not by much. BJ leaves Boston with an awful lot of questions and no answers.

* * *

“That visit everything you hoped for?”

Hawkeye's looking a little wistfully at the door. But he smiles as he looks back at Trapper. “Yeah, it was. Don't get me wrong, I would have liked to know what was eating him at the end there, but he seems happy. Like Korea didn't completely fuck him up. And that's a relief.”

“It's good to know at least one of us could go back home and pick his life back up where he left it.” BJ obviously loved the hell out of both his kid and his wife and Trapper's glad they're making it work. “Not that I don't like how things ended up for me. For us.”

“I like how things ended up for us too.” Then Hawkeye's gaze turns heated. “And as nice as it was to see BJ again, I'm a little glad he's gone.”

Trapper comes up to Hawkeye, cupping his face with a hand. “Yeah? You got something you wanna do just the two of us?”

“Oh, Trapper, I have a _list_.”


	19. Chapter 19

Radar looks out over the fields of new green corn and rich black earth. There's not another soul but him and Ma and Park Sung for miles.

And maybe there's folks who'd find it lonely, being out here in the middle of nowhere. City folk who'd be lost without the tick of a clock bringing mechanical order to their lives. Folks who don't know how to feel a storm coming across the plains, how to feel in their bones when to plant and when to harvest. How to feel the wider rhythm of the year – and the years spread out behind it and the years spreading out ahead of it.

Radar don't get to glimpse that much, not like some folks do – or say they do, anyway. He's mostly in the here and now. So he's learned to take it for what it is and not worry too much about things outta reach.

After all, who is he to raise himself up? Some things are between God and the Lord and he ain't about to blaspheme. Ma'd have his hide.

Still, for all that he can't look too far ahead – he always made his money as a bookie rather than a better – Radar don't think his gift's nothing to sneeze at.

Cuz, see, without the choppers coming over the hill screaming with wounded – and without the constant static from everybody being cold and miserable and scared – the transmission comes in a whole lot clearer. Like how bad storms used to mess up the radio. Now that the clouds are gone, Radar's getting a real clear signal.

He can feel Park Sung coming up behind him with a cup of coffee clear enough to put his hand out right where it's gonna be. He can feel his Ma so clear they can have whole conversations from halfway across the yard without saying a word. He can feel which animals are happy or hungry or hurt.

And he can feel Hawkeye clear from Boston.

Not just Hawkeye – though he tends to be the loudest, _feelingest_ of them – but most of the folks from the 4077. All the folks he'd gotten close with. BJ, Colonel Potter, Klinger, Dr. Winchester. Even Major Houlihan, Sir comes in occasionally, if the weather's right and he's got a good connection to the East Coast.

The only one who's missing is Colonel Blake.

Bloomington's real close to Ottumwa. It oughtta been easy to get him. But Radar ain't close enough with Mrs. Colonel Blake to tune in on her. To see if she might want to meet up with him how he'd planned to with Henry. To see if she don't feel the same gap where he oughtta be.

Like tuning the radio dial and it keeps skipping the station you know is there. And you go back and back over it cuz sometimes you get little ghost whispers you think might be a song but it ain't it's just static and still you can't stop trying to tune in that station.

Sometimes, Radar finds himself missing Korea.

It'd been loud enough, busy enough with criss-crossing signals all trying to drown each other out that you didn't notice the gap. The gap where all the folks who didn't make it oughtta be.

Here in Iowa, the signals are far apart enough – and quiet of the shrieking pain and terror and misery enough – that the gap is obvious. When he stands out at the edge of the fields and slowly tunes through the signals – checking and double checking that there ain't any new gaps – Radar feels it when he passes by where Colonel Blake oughtta be like running your tongue over the gap where a tooth fell out.

He lets the aching emptyness of the sky above him pull down into a narrow point aimed right at the heart of him – lets himself feel the space where Henry oughtta be, lets it fill him up till there ain't no room for nothing else – and then, slowly, lets the feel of the dark, rich earth beneath his feet, the hum of the cicadas and the clucking of the chickens, all that life trickle back into him and he moves to listen to the next signal.

* * *

Charles is officially the happiest man in the world. Marjory has agreed to marry him and – while they're saving their public engagement announcement for the Winchester summer cotillion – both Grandmama and Marjory's father have approved of the match. Charles will be the one to carry the Winchester name and fortune into the future – and he will be doing it with the most delightful and capable woman in the world at his side. He feels giddy with delight.

Honoria is blatantly laughing at him, but Charles cannot bring himself to mind. He feels rather like laughing himself, he's so full of effervescent joy. And he'd needed to tell someone the good news lest he burst like an overfilled balloon from the pressure of keeping his an engagement a secret. Charles still wants to yell the news from the rooftops – or at the very least, place a tasteful notice in the society pages – but he understands the need for secrecy. The news will be most impactful if shared during the party when all of Boston high society will be congregated in one place and may therefore bear witness to the ascendancy of the Winchester family to another generation of gracious and genteel leadership.

Subdued spectacle is the watchword – the night must be memorable and tasteful. Charles believes the current plan is a “spontaneous” engagement and the presentation of the ring over dessert-

Charles needs to find a ring!

Oh, this is terrible. Calamitous. He hadn't wanted to risk getting his hopes up by even looking at jewelry and now – at the eleventh hour – he must endeavor to find something approaching a worthy adornment for his bride-to-be. Charles can only hope to appeal to Honoria's better nature – via bribery, of course, as is the Winchester way – and pray that she takes pity on him. Her taste is exquisite – as is to be expected of one of her breeding – and Charles cannot do without her help in this delicate and most important matter.

Marriage may not always be forever, but quality jewelry ought to be.

* * *

BJ knows he's been acting strangely since he got back from visiting Hawkeye.

He's been trying not to distance himself from Peg, lose himself in contemplating the what-ifs and what-did-it-means. But he's maybe overcorrected. Payed her too much attention, made himself conspicuous that way.

It's just that it's easier to not think about Hawkeye when he's losing himself in Peg's embrace.

But whatever the reason, it's obvious that she's cottoned on to the fact that something's wrong – seeing how she's waiting for him in the living room after work with an expression that says he won't be able to weasel his way out of an explanation. BJ'd hoped she'd just let it go. Peg doesn't tend towards directness, has to have her own troubles coaxed out of her. But enough had been enough, apparently. And it looks like she's taking a page out of BJ's book with regards to handling a stubborn spouse.

Peg pats the sofa cushion next to her. “Sit down dear.” It's not a request.

BJ complies. There's not really anything else for him to do.

“Erin's at your parents' for the night so we have the whole evening to catch up with one another.”

BJ tries once more at deflection. “Nothing could make me happier than spending an evening catching up with you, Peggy.” He kisses her hand and up her arm.

And she smiles but she stops him before he gets to her lips.

“I didn't mean catch up like that and you know it, mister. You've been back home for over a week now and you still haven't told me how your little trip to visit Hawkeye went – I always enjoyed hearing about your various wild adventures, I would have thought you'd be full of new stories.”

Ah, hell. There's no way of getting out of answering such a direct question. He'll just have to try and keep his answers short and far away from any of his more tumultuous thoughts.

“Hawkeye's fine, Peg. He's working at a neighborhood clinic, doing more general practice than surgery. But he's happy. Happier than I've ever seen him.”

And hadn't that just smarted.

Intellectually, he knows it's because Hawkeye's home, away from Korea, away from the war. But it sure feels like an indictment of BJ – like he hadn't been enough for Hawkeye. And now that Hawkeye's back with Trapper, everything's just hunky-dory.

“Well, I'm glad he's doing all right. I know he only wrote the two letters, but he seemed like such a nice man – always trying to make you feel better about being away from home. And when I heard about what happened at the end of the war...” Peg trails off.

And maybe that will be the end of it. BJ hopes that's the end of it.

But then Peg says, “And how was meeting the famous Trapper John? Was he as bad as you expected?”

Her tone is teasing. She'd been on the receiving end of several letters – and later, several rants - about the man. About how much BJ detested his cheating, pranking, gin swilling ways.

Peg doesn't mean to do it, doesn't even know the turn his thoughts have taken. But now, BJ's thinking about things he'd rather not – things like how Trapper and Hawkeye had looked at each other like they were the only two people in the room - the whole world. How they'd leaned into each other, moved around one another with a casual intimacy. How well they fit into each others' lives.

“He's a competent surgeon and a pretty good poker player. And he and Hawkeye seem happy living together.” There. That's an innocuous statement that shouldn't warrant any further questions.

“And that just boils your briefs, now doesn't it?”

Yeah. Yeah, it sure does.

* * *

Hawkeye blinks sleepily and a blurry Trapper comes slowly into focus.

“Sorry for waking you,” Trapper whispers. “You can go back to sleep if you want – it's early still.”

Trapper's coming home off a late shift and it's obvious he's at the point of having stayed up all night where he's keyed up rather than exhausted. So Hawkeye probably won't be getting all that much more sleep regardless.

“You going to make coffee?”

Trapper nods.

“Bring me a cup and I'll forgive you for waking me up.”

Hawkeye cocoons himself back in the blankets. And he doesn't fall back asleep – although he may admit to dozing a little. Or maybe more than a little, because Trapper comes back with coffee _and_ breakfast some indeterminate amount of time later.

Hawkeye wriggles into a more upright position and accepts the plate of pancakes. They're very good. And made even better by being eaten with Trapper snuggled up behind him, laying kisses on his neck and shoulders.

And Trapper's definitely still on the keyed up side of things. His cock is thick and hard and pressing against Hawkeye's back, a delicious counterpoint to his more considerate gestures. So Hawkeye can't bring himself to mind that he's barely finished eating before Trapper sets the plate and silverware aside and pulls him into a syrup sticky kiss.

They make out for a while and it's perfect. Wonderful.

“If you don't wash that plate soon, the syrup's going to turn into a rock and then you'll never get it off.”

“I'd rather think about getting something else off, if you know what I mean.” Trapper waggles his eyebrows in comical lechery.

But Hawkeye won't let himself be swayed. “Trapper, c'mon. The plate.”

“Fuck it.” Trapper grinds a little against Hawkeye's own erection, clearly trying to distract him since seduction didn't work. “We got plenty of other plates – we can just throw it away if it don't wash up.”

Hawkeye gives him a look.

“Fine. I'll go do the _goddamn_ dishes. With a _goddamn_ hard on. Since it's so _goddamn_ important to you.” But Trapper's grinning as he says it. Then he turns to Hawkeye with a striking intensity. “Don't you go anywhere – I wanna pick this back up just as soon as I'm done.”

Hawkeye relaxes further into the mattress. “I'll be right here waiting for you, Trapper, don't you worry.”

“You better.” It comes out as a growl.

And Trapper gives Hawkeye one last bruising kiss before gathering up the dishes and heading downstairs to the kitchen. Hawkeye stretches luxuriously – reveling in the fact that this is how he gets to spend his mornings now. Then he gets up to go brush his teeth in anticipation of Trapper's return.

* * *

Steve is beginning to understand Hawkeye's desire to fob off all his wannabe paramours on the nearest available target. Ever since he'd moved to Crabapple Cove, Steve had been pursued by a whole slew of young ladies looking for a husband. And he's sure they're all lovely individuals – but as a group, they're overwhelming. Exhausting.

Fortunately, Dr. Pierce – Daniel – has taken pity on Steve and granted him a standing invitation to dinner so he can politely turn down the dinner invitations from literally every single single woman in town. Steve is even beginning to suspect that women from the surrounding towns are in on it – he hadn't recognized a good third of tonight's hopefuls. It's a wonder Steve hadn't been trampled in the crush.

And Daniel had just stood there laughing at Steve's misfortune before escorting him out the door and to the safety of the Pierce house. What exactly Daniel gets out of all this – other than a good laugh, Steve means – he doesn't know. It might be that Daniel is lonely, missing Hawkeye, and that Steve is a convenient substitute for his actual son. There's no denying Daniel has taken an almost paternal interest in Steve.

But it feels like Daniel honestly enjoys Steve's company. And Steve enjoys Daniel's, even if he does gently mock Steve for his string of unwanted admirers.

Not that Steve minds _all_ of the attention. There are a few girls he enjoys going out with – though they tend to be the ones who don't mob him. And if the biggest problem in his life right now is that he's _too_ desirable to women. Well, there are worse fates.

Still, Steve hopes the novelty of his presence wears off soon and things calm down a little. He did move to Crabapple Cove in search of a little peace and quiet after all.

* * *

“He's an old friend of the family.”

“You sure have a lot of those, Maggie.”

Margaret's not sure what her expression is doing, but now Kat looks sad.

“Oh, honey. I'm not upset with you for having dinner with General Barker. I know what it means to do what you have to in order to get ahead. And I know how important your career is to you – how much getting this promotion he's dangling like a lure would mean to you.”

Kat sighs.

“I just wish you didn't have to do it. I wish you hadn't had to do it so many times in the past. And I wonder.

“I wonder how many “Uncles” sat you on their knee as a little girl, knowing you'd be sitting on their laps for a different reason in a few years?

“How many little jokes did your father make about how pretty you were as a girl? What a beautiful young woman you grew up to be? And the Uncles nodding and drooling and thinking about paying you a personal visit in a few years – just an old family friend catching up on old times – and didn't you just blossom into the prettiest little thing?

“How many of them – how many of them couldn't wait that long?”

Margaret doesn't even realize that she's crying until Kat wipes away the tears.

“I'm sorry, Maggie. This... this is about you and your promotion. I shouldn't have said anything.”

Kat pulls her into a hug and Margaret sobs into her shoulder.

Her mother never said anything about it – just retreated into the kitchen after dinner to drink sherry, leaving Margaret to play hostess for her father and his friends. And her father certainly hadn't said anything about the way his friends looked at her – the way they touched and leered.

And it hadn't hurt her! She'd just learned early on how to make men bend to her whims. How to use them to get ahead in a world that wasn't ready to let a woman lead on her own merits.

So why is she crying?

Kat just stands there and rocks Margaret gently, like she's soothing a child. Holds Margaret firmly to her breast and she's safe here. Here, she doesn't have to be strong. Here, she doesn't have to face the ugly reality of the world – the reality of what exactly she's worth to any man she meets.

But no reprieve lasts forever.

Eventually, Margaret stops crying. Stands tall. Pulls away from Kat's arms.

“I hate them,” Margaret whispers into the space between their bodies. “I hate how they look at me, how they touch me like they own a piece of me. And I hate this world for making me need them.”

Kat hums in gentle understanding and hugs Margaret close once more.

Then Kat helps Margaret do her hair and makeup. Zips her into her dress, helps her into her heels. Gets her ready for her dinner with General Barker.

* * *

“The American dream, _pah!_ ” And then Uncle Abdul spits on the sidewalk outside the laundromat.

It's a familiar refrain. It's how every family gathering gets going. The sign to start complaining about your troubles – how you lost your job, your wife, your money to the craps table. Whatever.

And Max gets it. The world ain't a bed of roses. Being a poor Lebanese immigrant, you have to scrape and scrimp and scam your way into a living.

But Max has always been an optimist. Always on the lookout for a new angle, a new scam, a new way to get by. And now that Soon Li and the kid are in the picture, Max had better double down. Make sure they're provided for. Make sure the kid gets a shot at a better life than either of them had.

So Max had started wheeling and dealing like all their lives depend on it, starting almost a year ago now in Korea.

First to find Soon Li's family, to fulfill that promise. What's left of them had been at a refugee camp almost all the way down in Pusan for whatever reason – trying to pry any useful information outta army intelligence had been a waste of good bribes. But they're all back together again, standing in the shell craters that used to be their village. Looking at the place their family has lived and died for generations – a last glimpse before they gotta leave.

So second had been getting them all settled wherever they wanted to go. With the graft and corruption and black market dealing left over from the war, it's easy enough to get most of the family settled around Seoul – with jobs and a place to live, even. They can't be farmers anymore, the land all gone to shit anywhere close to the demilitarized zone, but they oughtta scrape by. But Soon Li and the kid – some nebulously related cousin they'd run into early on, who even at around two years old don't talk any, not in Korean or English – they both wanna go back to the States with Max.

And that had been third. Getting the kid adopted and a name and papers. Getting them all tickets home. It had taken some finagling, some heavy bribery – all of the Klinger collection gone again to an Army bureaucrat's Korean mistress – but it's worth the price. And it helps they got hitched Christian like when Max was still a soldier – the Buddhist ceremony they'd had after finding Soon Li's folks doesn't count for shit with the US government.

Fourth had been getting settled back home. Finding a place to live that'll take Max and Soon Li and the kid. Max breaks out the Class A's and plays up being a patriotic GI doing right by the gal he knocked up, so they get a pretty nice apartment on the Hunky side of town. Next is getting a job. After a third wedding, this time in Arabic and with a zaffe made up of neighbors and relatives – and with a party that lasts all night, full of food and dancing and family Max ain't seen in years – that problem gets solved, too. Uncle Habib, who got out early enough to go to the wedding on account of good behavior, is looking for people to work the laundromat he just bought – and Uncle Habib is willing to give Max and Soon Li a shot at it. It's a money laundering operation, obviously, but Max thinks they can make a real go of it as a business, doing dry cleaning and alterations and such.

That's the fifth thing. And it's not so much wheeling and dealing as it is careful words to the guys who come in with women's clothes for dry cleaning – women's clothes that are the right size to fit them. Max has developed an eye for this kind of thing, after so many years of sewing and altering and wearing dresses. And an eye for how to make the clothes fit right on bodies they maybe weren't designed for. So it ain't long before Max has a line of customers for _discrete_ alterations, done in the back room while Soon Li oversees the running of the laundromat with an iron fist. And some have started to ask about tailoring.

Maybe someday Max will even have enough customers to set up as a tailor. No money laundering involved. Just honest business and honest skill.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. There Max goes, being an optimist again. And maybe Uncle Abdul is right to spit when Max asks about buying a building. Maybe Uncle Abdul's right to say the American Dream is a crock of shit and that dreaming, planning, scheming for more will just bite Max right in the butt. But Max can't help wondering if _maybe_.


	20. Chapter 20

“Boy, there's enough red, white, and blue around here to make even old Ferret Face happy.” Trapper's looking around the park with an expression somewhere between awe and contempt. “Don't remember it being quite so...” He gestures vaguely at the flag bunting and the kids waving sparklers and tiny flags.

“What, it wasn't like this last Fourth of July?” Hawkeye finds it hard to believe that America would have been _less_ patriotic during the death throws of the Korean war.

“I didn't go anywhere near any of this shit last year – got stuck with a twenty-four hour shift in the ER.” Trapper sighs. “Between the noise from the fireworks and all the kids coming in with powder burns, I coulda been back at the front.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

The clinic has seen its fair share of kids with burnt fingers – though fortunately nothing worse. And Hawkeye hasn't had the most restful week of his life, either. The constant barrage of fireworks brings back memories of artillery shells and he keeps dreaming about Korea. Just hazy impressions of blood and khaki, but unsettling enough to make him toss and turn half the night.

Trapper nudges Hawkeye out of those thoughts with a brief press of his shoulder. “Course, you were actually over there last year, so I tried not to wallow in self pity too much. I'm sure the coffee you were drinking was way worse than the shit in the ER staff room.”

Hawkeye laughs despite himself. Feels himself relax, despite the crowds, despite the dozens of screaming children – shrieks of laughter so, so close to shrieks of terror and agony. Despite what day it is.

He isn't in Korea. No one is going to die today.

Trapper knocks gently into Hawkeye's shoulder again, clearly reading his change in mood. “It gets to be too much and you wanna go home, just lemme know. Ok?”

Hawkeye smiles, small but genuine. “Thanks, Trapper. But I'm ok, really. And Cathy would never let me live it down if I missed her softball game – I'd lose my standing as favorite uncle.”

“That's true enough, Cathy's absolutely ruthless when crossed.” Trapper grins. “She pretty much single handedly whupped St. John's Episcopal in the interfaith league cuz they wouldn't let a girl play softball.”

“She an adorable little terror. You must be so proud.” And now Hawkeye's grinning too.

By this point, they've managed to fight their way through the crowd to the metal bleachers of the baseball diamond. It's crowded here too – apparently the Fourth of July little league games are a longstanding tradition – but it's a more orderly chaos. The hordes of children are being at least somewhat corralled by their impatient parents.

Except for Becky - who comes barreling out of the ballpark and right into Trapper, managing to knock him backwards a few steps with the force of her momentum. While Trapper's still getting his wind back, she flings herself at Hawkeye in an exuberant hug. He hugs her back, a little bemused – she's not normally so affectionate.

“Thank Christ you're here!” she exclaims when she finally lets go of Hawkeye.

“Don't cuss, Becky,” Trapper admonishes her. Though he's pulled her into another, less violent hug – and it's not like he has much room to complain about bad language.

“Sorry, dad,” Becky says, not looking very sorry. “But we've been here for hours! And all mom and Rob want to do is gossip about boring stuff like who's having babies or what some lady wore to church. At least you two talk about interesting things.”

“Speaking of your ma, she know you're running around loose?”

Becky looks guiltily at the ground and Trapper sighs.

“You better lead us to 'em before Louise sends out a search party. Don't want her to think you've run off to join the circus – though your human cannon ball act is pretty good, just about bowled me over.”

“Sorry dad, Uncle Hawkeye.” This time Becky does look contrite. But she brightens up when Hawkeye and Trapper each hold out a hand for her to take. And then she's tearing off towards wherever Louise and Robert are sitting – the two of them trailing in her wake.

They come up on Louise and Robert a little ways away – though the crowds are thick enough, it takes longer than it should to reach them. Leaving plenty of time for Trapper to watch them as he approaches.

It's still kinda strange for Trapper to see Louise out on the town – especially with a guy who ain't him. But they're friendly enough with one another, if mostly focused on the girls whenever they talk. And Robert ain't a bad guy, even if Trapper finds him unbearably boring. He cares about the girls a whole hell of a lot, and that's worth sitting through him talking about bird watching or the stock market or whatever the hell it is he's talking about now. Proper barbecue technique, by the sound of it.

No wonder Becky ran off.

Even Louise looks glad to see them, her smile a little fixed as she goes to kiss first his cheek and then Hawkeye's. And she's very quick to pull Hawkeye into a conversation about her latest knitting project – apparently Cathy's interest had sparked her own and they all trade knitting patterns now. Trapper smiles as he listens to Becky describe the plot of her latest Nancy Drew novel.

It's funny that it took divorcing his wife for them to find some kinda equilibrium with each other.

And Trapper ain't glad it happened, by any means. Mostly cuz Louise deserved better from him than being a distant shadow of the man she married – and a cheater who'd bedded anyone who'd have him over in Korea. A man in love with his best friend, even if it took him a while to realize.

But he don't mourn the man he used to be. Or see much point in regretting his mistakes. What's done is done – all that matters is the here and now. And this here and this now – a clear summer day, his one daughter sitting next to him and the other waving frantically from the dugout, Hawkeye happy and laughing and here with him – is pretty damn good.

* * *

Cathy wins her softball game and they all go out for ice cream after. They still woulda gone if she hadn't'a won, of course, but there's a special air of celebration about it on account of the victory.

After they all mob the ice cream cart – along with about a hundred other families - they cram onto a couple of park benches. The girls are talking all in and around and over each other in their excitement. And Louise is attempting to get them to take turns talking – a lost cause in Trapper's opinion. Even Robert is smiling and cracking some pretty terrible jokes. They're loud enough, some of the people walking past are giving them the evil eye.

But Hawkeye is just sitting there. Silent. With ice cream dripping down his arm.

Covered by the loud chatter of the rest of the family, Trapper leans in and says quietly, “You ok, Hawkeye? You wanna cut this short and head home?”

“Nah, I'm fine. Just thinking.” And then Hawkeye laughs quietly. “You know something funny, Trapper? That first week back home I went out and bought knitting supplies and a gossip magazine and an ice cream cone – strawberry, like I'm eating now.”

Hawkeye pauses to lick ice cream off his wrist and Trapper has to look away.

“It felt like – like this forbidden thing, you know? To go out and buy ice cream. Ice cream! It's not like I was breaking the law or anything – I wasn't even buying booze or a nudie mag or anything questionable – but it felt like I was going to get arrested by the cops for being out without a pass, you know? For daring to buy an ice cream cone without orders.”

Trapper nods.

For all that the army was s'posed to bring freedom to Korea, it was pretty damn thin on the ground – for soldiers and civilians. It had taken him a while to get used to the lack of military restrictions when he got back home, too. A while to get used to feeling like a real person again, able to make decisions for himself, able to set his own schedule.

“I had to remind myself that I was a grown adult,” Hawkeye continues, “capable of running errands on my own – going where I wanted when I wanted, without written permission or a curfew.”

Trapper nods again. “It's funny what a guy can get used to, I guess. What starts to feel normal.” He grins wryly. “Not that you've ever given two shits about being normal.”

Hawkeye laughs. “True enough.” And then he bites into his ice cream cone.

* * *

They get invited over to Louise and Robert's house in the suburbs for a Fourth of July barbecue. And the girls are so excited to show their dad and Uncle Hawkeye their rooms and toys and neighborhood haunts that they can't really refuse. So Hawkeye finds himself standing on Robert's meticulously manicured lawn, chatting with a slew of pastel-clad, pearl-wearing housewives while their husbands congregate around the grill to talk about cars and vacations to the Grand Canyon and other boring things. Trapper, meanwhile, has practically disappeared in a pile of roughhousing kids – occasionally breaking free, only to be pulled back under by the teaming mass. And Louise flutters at the edge of Hawkeye's little entourage – pouring drinks and setting out side dishes.

Hawkeye had offered to help – he and Trapper both had – but she'd said they were guests and ought to take it easy. Hawkeye doesn't know that he feels easy, exactly, in this world of matching bungalows and matching skirt sets but he does his best to relax.

It had helped when the women had gathered around him and started gossiping. All he'd had to do was listen and ask leading questions and he could be almost totally silent without looking bored or inattentive – a trick he'd learned on the boat home, back when he didn't really talk all that much. Back when he felt like he didn't have anything to say that was really him talking.

He doesn't feel that way anymore, but it's still a relief when they all sit down to eat and he can rejoin Trapper. Talk about something other than church functions, PTA meetings, and children's play dates. Even if they're sitting at the kiddie table and his time is mostly spent trying to keep the kids from putting potato salad in each others' hair.

It helps settle something in him to be able to see the kids alive and happy and _alive_. Helps drive home that he isn't in Korea and today isn't going to end like it did last year. And it helps that Trapper is sitting next to him, pressed against him, real and solid and here.

Trapper presses closer to Hawkeye under the pretense of the table being crowded. And there are a whole lotta kids crammed onto one picnic bench. But more than that, Trapper needs the comfort and familiarity of Hawkeye next to him.

Cuz it's strange, being here at Louise's house. Seeing her and the kids having a life here. Seeing them have a life here with Robert and without him.

Don't get him wrong, it's not any kinda life Trapper'd want to live. He ain't jealous or nothing. But it's strange, being here with the people he used to be so close to - but as an outsider to their lives.

At least Louise seems happy here - with her nice big house and her nice boring husband and her nice gossipy neighbors. Trapper's glad Louise is living the kinda life she wants – the kinda life she'd grown up with, grown up wanting. Glad she can have the kinda life he hadn't been able to have with her.

But he's really fucking glad when the night is over and he can go back home to his own life with Hawkeye.


	21. Chapter 21

“How was Maine?” Trapper asks as Hawkeye slings his duffel onto the bed. It's not his army duffel - that had been thrown out as soon as he'd gotten it back - but a new one made of cheerful red canvas, the furthest Hawkeye and the Sears catalog could get from olive drab.

“It was good seeing my dad again. And Steve, who appears to be settling in nicely. He's going steady with an old flame of mine, so that's one less woman chasing after me – which I'm sure we're both relieved about.” He and Trapper share a conspiratorial grin. “So it was good to hear about all that, and about how he's getting on at the practice.”

A pause.

“And it was good to visit Tommy.”

Good in a way Hawkeye hadn't necessarily expected.

It's not that his visits are ever bad, per se. But they can be exhausting. Emotionally difficult.

But this latest visit had been free of the yoke of guilt Hawkeye had carried around since Tommy had died on his table and Hawkeye had had to move on to other people he could save instead of saying goodbye. Free of the wild grief Hawkeye had kept in his heart ever since he found out that Tommy's body had been taken away some time during the marathon OR session – and that Hawkeye would never see him again. Free of the trepidation, the uncertainty that had so haunted Hawkeye's first visit.

* * *

Hawkeye stands on the rocky shingle where his granddad used to launch his lobster boat and stares out at the ocean. It's a beautiful day for winter in Maine - sunny and clear, with no cutting wind to strip the flesh from your bones. Hawkeye feels like it ought to be overcast and miserable, the weather appropriately solemn for the occasion. But Hawkeye isn't in charge of the weather. And Tommy always did like to be contrary.

Well, there's no sense in putting it off any longer – it's taken Hawkeye long enough as it is.

His gaze turns to the rocky beach beneath his feet, searching out a tz'ror. The stone Hawkeye selects is smooth and flat and large enough to serve as the foundation for all the future tz'ror he'll leave. Because he may not be religious, may not believe in any gods or any kind of afterlife. But through him, the memory of Tommy – his first best friend, his first of many things – will endure like stone.

Then Hawkeye makes his way up the rise to the lawn where his dad and Trapper are waiting – patient through all of Hawkeye's introspection and dragging his feet. They make a strange little funeral procession through town and out to the cemetery, his dad carrying a bouquet of flowers and Trapper carrying the last of the bottle of whiskey he'd used to grieve Hawkeye's supposed passing. And they may garner some unwanted attention from the various busybodies congregated in the town square, but Hawkeye's glad they're here with him for this.

Glad he doesn't have to face his grief and guilt and _love_ for Tommy alone.

Tommy's grave is neat and well kept – his family clearly take tending to it seriously - and Hawkeye is glad of that. But there's a fucking bible verse on the tombstone – something saccharine and terrible about fighting the good fight and keeping the faith.

As if there was anything good about the Korean war. As if they know anything of the the fights Tommy fought – in the streets, in the classroom, in his books and articles. As if Tommy wouldn't personally fight any god who dared welcome him into the afterlife barehanded and with a smile on his face.

Hawkeye's dad places his bouquet on the grave and steps away. He'd gotten to go to the funeral, he'd said – paid his respects and said his piece then. This visit is for Hawkeye.

Hawkeye places the tz'ror on top of Tommy's gravestone.

“Hi, Tommy.” And there's no way to stall, nothing more for him to drag his feet over. “The war's been over a few months now. I'm sorry I'm only coming to see you now but it's, it's been hard. Getting to feeling like myself – figuring out who that even is. And I'm not all the way there yet, but at least I've got a chance at it, unlike you.”

Hawkeye pauses to blink back tears.

“I'm so sorry, Tommy. Sorry I couldn't save you, sorry that they made me try – sorry that you were in Korea in the first place. I know you don't blame me for it, that you forgave me there on the fucking table as you were dying. And I appreciate that - I'm trying to honor it – but I'm sorry you had to do that, too.”

Hawkeye runs his gloved hand over the sun warmed stone.

“I miss you, Tommy – I miss you and I love you. And I'm so, so sorry.”

Trapper comes up beside Hawkeye then, and takes his free hand. It would be risky if anyone were here other than his dad, but the cemetery is empty and Hawkeye really appreciates having Trapper's hand in his right now.

“I'm sorry we didn't get much of a chance to get to know one another, Tommy,” Trapper says quietly. “I reckon the three of us coulda had some fun together – coulda been friends after the war. You were a good guy, and I'm glad Hawkeye had a friend like you growing up. Someone to get him into trouble and then back out of it. I hope you're restin easy.”

Trapper takes a drink of the whiskey and passes it to Hawkeye who takes a sip and then pours the rest of the bottle over Tommy's grave.

It's not enough, but it's all Hawkeye has to give.

* * *

Hawkeye had gone home to his dad's house and cried. Cried like he had for Tommy when he died. Cried like he couldn't for all the other kids who'd died over there, and for all the kids who'd lived. Cried ugly and snotty and wailing.

And then when he'd finished crying, he and his dad had told stupid stories about all the trouble he and Tommy used to get up to as kids – all the pranks played and the jokes told – while Trapper listened and laughed. And later, he'd whispered other stories about him and Tommy into Trapper's ear as they laid together in bed. Stories about first kisses, second kisses, hundredth kisses. Stories about love that went beyond friendship, beyond a puppy crush, beyond “practicing for girls.” Stories about things his dad had probably guessed at, but that Hawkeye doesn't think he wants to hear about – wouldn't understand the importance of them the way Trapper does, anyway.

It had been cathartic, letting everything he's feeling out like that – the sorrow, the joy, the love. Hawkeye finally able to mourn Tommy after years and years.

And his subsequent visits to Tommy's grave had been easier – though not without a certain solemnity, a certain sense of a debt owed.

But his visit this past weekend had been different still. There was still an understanding of grief and loss and love – but Hawkeye was filled with an air of expectant joy, as well. The kind of quiet excitement you get at having the chance to catch up with an old friend you haven't seen in a while.

* * *

By now, Hawkeye has visited Tommy's grave enough that there's a whole stack of Tz'ror making a little altar on the gravestone. A testament to all the memories Hawkeye has of the trouble they used to cause together. And a marker of all the goings on of the world that Tommy can't be there for.

Hawkeye sits down beside Tommy's grave and talks for hours – about Crabapple Cove in the summer, about people they both knew as kids, about Hawkeye's life in Boston. About the lobster boil he and his dad and Steve are having down at the beach this evening and about Steve's continued harassment by the single women of Crabapple Cove.

About how the war's been over for a year and it feels like both forever and no time at all. Like it's been forgotten by everyone but those who were part of it. Those who's lives were marked by it. Those who celebrate its passing the way he and Steve are doing here tonight – and Trapper and Charles are probably doing in Boston.

“Speaking of the war, Tommy, your book's getting published finally. They wanted to make a bunch of changes – turn it into a real flag waver, use it to recruit kids to come over to Vietnam to get shot. But your editor told them to get fucked – and I may or may not have sent a few dozen angry letters when I found out about it. Along with everyone else in my little anti-war social club. And I think Margaret helped as well – she sure can pen a diatribe, I can tell you.

“So the book's getting printed just how you wrote it – minus some spelling corrections, if I know you. And that's something, I guess, even if it's nothing close to enough. Other people will get to see you, Tommy, get to know you. Get to see the truth of how things were over there.”

Hawkeye sighs. “I just wish you were still alive to see it - and to yell at all those nationalistic idiots yourself. But you aren't and you can't – so I guess I better keep doing it for you. After all, what are friends for if not to keep your communist propaganda from getting rewritten?”

Hawkeye laughs softly to himself and just sits for a while, leaning back on his elbows, looking up at the clear summer sky. It's almost like the sweet summer evenings from his childhood – sitting out on the back porch or down at the beach or out on the lawn. Him and Tommy talking and laughing and just being together.

Eventually, it gets late – the sun low enough in the sky to signal dinner on the horizon. So Hawkeye gets up and brushes grass off his pants, stretches his cramped legs.

“Goodbye, Tommy, I'll be back to visit as soon as I can,” he says and then turns away.

And Hawkeye realizes he's looking forward to that next visit. It's not a duty or a way to assuage lingering guilt but a joy to get to come back to visit Tommy. To talk to whatever small part of him lives on in this cemetery in Maine and in Hawkeye's memories.

* * *

Hawkeye shakes himself out of memory and back into the present. Back into his bedroom in his house in Boston. Back to Trapper.

“All in all, it was a good trip. But I'm glad to be back home.”

“I'm glad you're back home too, Hawk,” Trapper says seriously. “Cuz I just spent an evening with Charles Winchester and I'm ready for some better company.”

Hawkeye smiles coquettishly. “Trapper, you flatterer. C'mon, it couldn't have been that bad.”

“All right, fine, it wasn't that bad. Honoria and Marjory were there so I wasn't just stuck with Winchester all night. And that sure was a good thing, cuz he got pretty soused and wasn't up for much conversation. Not that that's a big loss,” Trapper says a little meanly.

Hawkeye whacks him gently on the chest with the back of his hand. “Oh, stop. You don't _really_ hate him.”

“Fine, I admit he's gotten a lot less snooty since I first met him. But that don't make it any more fun to sit through the endless stories about how smart and rich and well bred he is.”

Hawkeye laughs. “All right, all right – I take your point. It does get a little boring hearing about summering on the Cape for the fifth time.”

“This time it was all about how glad he is Korea's over and he ain't had to see none of the riff-raff from the 4077 in a whole year, so at least there was some variety to the snobbery. Though him listing out the names of every single person in camp – minus you and BJ and, weirdly enough, Max – got old pretty quick.”

Hawkeye smiles wryly. “I'm surprised I wasn't on that list – Charles couldn't get away from me fast enough back in Korea.”

“Well,” Trapper grins, “you do got a way of growing on people.”

A pause.

“And as big a pile of shit as Korea was, there was good stuff too. Friends I couldn't'a made anyplace else. People I love and care about that I never woulda met otherwise. And I reckon that's worth remembering – and I reckon Winchester thinks so too, or we'd've never started playing poker together.”

“That's true enough,” Hawkeye says. “Though I won't be sorry when it's been so long since the war I forget exactly which anniversary we're on.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated Explicit and contains PWP up until the page break. Feel free to skip until that point.

“Happy anniversary!” Hawkeye exclaims as Trapper comes into the living room.

A little confused, Trapper goes to join him on the couch. “Not that I don't appreciate the enthusiastic greeting, but I'm pretty sure that was last week, Hawkeye. I remember cuz you made me bake you a cake to celebrate. And then made me blow you. Said it was your reward for putting up with me for a year.”

“Made you, huh?” Hawkeye teases. “Yeah, I really had to twist your arm to get you to suck me off. You definitely weren't the guy practically ripping my clothes off so he could get at my dick.”

Fine. It's true. Trapper'd been more than a little enthusiastic.

But he'd come home to Hawkeye wearing some racy little number he'd ordered offa Max. And Trapper's always been a sucker for lingerie. So you can't blame him for going to his knees right there in the entryway, for licking and kissing and sucking at Hawkeye's cock through the slippery satin. He'd wanted to _devour_ him.

So being asked to get off his knees and go bake a cake was a disappointment. Trapper didn't want to let Hawkeye – especially a Hawkeye dressed like that – outta his sight. But Hawkeye had turned to him and said, “I'll be waiting for you in the living room. We can pick up where you left off while the cake's in the oven.”

So Trapper had made him the damn cake. And then he'd gone out to the living room and knelt in the vee of Hawkeye's thighs and spent the next hour or so – minus the time it took to get the Goddamn cake outta the oven and onto a cooling rack – with Hawkeye's cock down his throat and Hawkeye's hand in his hair and Hawkeye's sexy red negligee bunched up in his fists. And he'd loved it.

Even now, just thinking about it is getting him hard.

“All right, I admit it - I enjoyed it. Whatever. My point is, it made for a memorable evening – so I'm pretty damn positive the anniversary of you coming back stateside was last week.”

“The anniversary of my coming back from Korea, yes.” Here Hawkeye's expression takes on a glint of mischief. “ _This_ anniversary is for our first time having sex. Well, our second first time.”

“Ohhh, _that_ anniversary.”

Hawkeye moves to straddle Trapper's lap. “Want to know how we're going to celebrate?”

Trapper grabs Hawkeye's ass – and his fingers bump up against something smooth and hard right in the cleft. Something that makes Hawkeye arch and moan when he presses on it. Fuck.

“I'm pretty sure I can guess,” Trapper says into Hawkeye's heaving chest.

“Oh fuck. Trapper-”

“You wanna get fucked all right. And you were so desperate, you couldn't even wait for me to get home – had to take matters into your own hands, didn't you?”

“I wanted to surprise you.” Hawkeye's tone is breathless – Trapper still pressing on the base of the toy, pushing it further into him, fucking him with it. “I spent all morning getting ready, working myself open, getting all nice and stretched to take your cock-”

This time, it's Trapper who groans.

“-keeping myself open and ready till you got home _._ And now you're home, Trapper.”

“Yeah, I am, Hawk. So what the hell are we waiting for?”

They relocate to the bedroom - and the sounds Hawkeye makes going up the stairs as the toy he's got in him shifts around have Trapper about ready to bend him over and take him right then and there. He wants to grab Hawkeye close and pull their pants down just far enough that Trapper can get rid of the fake cock and replace it with his own. Wants to fuck Hawkeye rough and quick and dirty.

But that wouldn't make for much of a celebration. So Trapper gets a hold of himself and he makes it to the bedroom somehow, manages to get all his and Hawkeye's clothes off. And then Trapper comes up behind Hawkeye to kiss on him – sweet and gentle as he can bear - and to play with the base of the toy still in Hawkeye's ass.

Cuz as much as he wants it gone, Trapper'll admit to being more than a little curious about it – about the sweet, desperate noises it's wringing outta Hawkeye. He wants to know the size and shape of it, know how it's filling Hawkeye, pressing on his prostate, making him whine and push back against Trapper's hand like he is. Half fucked out already and ready to move on to the next part – which Trapper's more than happy to oblige.

“How do you want it, honey?” Trapper moves his free hand to Hawkeye's hip, pulls him close. “On your front so you can rub off on the blankets? Or on your back so we can kiss? Or maybe sitting in my lap so I can jack you off...”

“I want to ride you, Trap. Just fuck myself silly with your cock.”

God. “Ok.” _God_. “Ok. I like that idea.”

And he really, really does. Hawkeye's so shameless in a lotta ways. Knows what he likes and ain't afraid to ask for it. But he rarely  _takes_ what he wants – the way he had their first time back home, when he'd been the one to fuck Trapper. So doing it this way is a fitting celebration of that anniversary. And also hot as hell.

“Good. Go lie down on the bed.” Hawkeye even sounds commanding. This is gonna be a fun afternoon.

Trapper complies and Hawkeye looks at him contemplatively.

“You still have those handcuffs, Trapper?”

“Hah! You mean the ones we “borrowed” offa that MP when we thought we were gonna get arrested? I think they're in that box of stuff from the war.”

The box that lives on the top shelf of his closet, full of letters and photos and other little mementos of his time in Korea – stuff too private to display, but too meaningful to throw out.

Hawkeye digs out the handcuffs. “I'm surprised these were just sitting around gathering dust, Trap.”

Trapper shrugs with one shoulder as Hawkeye attaches one cuff around his other wrist. “I forgot I even had 'em till just now, to be honest.”

Hawkeye attaches the other cuff and Trapper tests the restraints. It's a little awkward having his hands over his head like this, but the curl of arousal he feels at being tied down like this more than makes up for it.

“Not much reason to go through old photos when the subject of 'em is right here with me.” He knows his grin is smarmy but he can't bring himself to mind.

Especially when Hawkeye trails a possessive hand down Trapper's chest and says, “You're such a fucking sap,” in a way that shows how much he appreciates the sentiment.

Trapper looks down to where Hawkeye's straddling his thighs. “You're the one wanting to celebrate all these anniversaries, Hawk.”

“Speaking of - we might as well get down to celebrating. You comfy, Trapper?”

Trapper nods. “Gettin a little impatient, though.” He tips his chin towards his dick, which has been standing up red and hard for a while now and Trapper'd really like to get it inside Hawkeye sometime soon.

“Oh hush. I've been waiting for this longer than you have.”

And then Hawkeye reaches behind himself and pulls out the toy. It's big – longer than just a plug - and when Hawkeye turns to put it on the bedside table, Trapper can see that it leaves him gaping a little from how long it's been holding him open.

Trapper lets out a low whistle. “Where'd you get that from?”

“The sex shop in Tokyo – they have a back room if you know how to ask. And I had a lot of empty nights to fill after you left. Though it doesn't really compare to the real thing.” Hawkeye leers at Trapper's hard on, and it twitches a little under the assessment. “But enough talking - ”

And then Hawkeye's putting a condom on Trapper and slicking him up – and fuck does that feel good. Trapper hasn't had a single hand on his dick since this all started and he's aching.

And then Hawkeye puts three fingers in his own ass – stretching himself one last time, spreading that last little bit of slick. There's no gentle tease of first one finger, then the next - no building up to it - just a steady push in that makes Hawkeye arch and moan. And _fuck_. Trapper's sorry he missed Hawkeye working himself open, stretching himself to take the toy, maybe fucking himself with it before pressing it all the way in. But it's really hot to see Hawkeye's ass just take three fingers right away.

And then Hawkeye's ass is taking Trapper's cock. Taking him in one long, sweet slide - Hawkeye not stopping until he's flush with Trapper's groin, until all of Trapper's cock is inside of him.

“Ah, fuck, it feels so good.” Hawkeye grinds on Trapper's dick, clearly trying to find the angle that'll make him scream.

And normally, this is where Trapper'd be helping him out. Angling his hips different ways, pulling Hawkeye flush against him, touching him, kissing him, playing with his tits or with his cock. Making him feel so, so good.

But he can't. Can't touch him cuz of the handcuffs. Can't fuck him deep and hard cuz of the way Hawkeye's sitting on him, pinning him down.

He's gotta just lay there while Hawkeye gets himself off. All he can do is watch as Hawkeye rides him, as he plays with his own tits, as he rubs at his own cock. Hawkeye's pleasuring himself – Trapper incidental to all this, his dick just another toy for Hawkeye to fuck himself with.

And Jesus Christ is that hot.

Trapper thrusts his hips up as much as he can to meet Hawkeye's. Relishes in the slap of flesh on flesh. The way Hawkeye's clenching around him. The way Hawkeye's gasping with every thrust, head thrown back and eyes closed in pleasure.

Hawkeye rides Trapper like that for a while, long easy thrusts that empty him out and then fill him back up on each stroke. And Hawkeye's got his nipples pinched in tight, twisting fingers. And there's a deep flush from his bared throat across his chest and down to where his cock's standing out hard and red and dripping all over Trapper's abs.

Hawkeye's beautiful.

And desperate. He's fucking himself harder on Trapper's cock, now, the sound ringing out in the quiet room. And he's got one hand bracing himself on Trapper's hip, fingers clutching tight enough to leave bruises, while the other hand is wrapped around his dick, pulling on it in time with his thrusts – with a swirl of his thumb on the head to match the grind of his hips. Each thrust forces a quiet “fuck” from Hawkeye's lips, which are flushed red red red. And his eyes are still closed, his entire body completely lost in ecstasy. Like there's nothing here but him and his body and the pleasure he's feeling.

A pleasure that's building in Trapper, too – from how Hawkeye looks, completely lost in sensation and pleasure and his own body. From how Hawkeye feels around Trapper's cock, slick and warm and perfect. Trapper doesn't think he's going to last much longer.

Fortunately, Hawkeye seems to be getting close to losing it, too. His thrusts are short now, barely moving up Trapper's cock before slamming back down, just nailing his prostate if the broken little gasps he's making are any indication. And his grip around his cock is brutal.

“Please, fuck, I'm so close.”

Trapper doesn't know if Hawkeye's talking to him – he doesn't seem aware of much outside the way he's touching himself, fucking himself. But Trapper responds anyway. Works his hips harder, meets Hawkeye's thrusts with as much force as he can. Fucks him as good as he's able to tied down like this. He wants this to be good for him, wants to see Hawkeye fall apart on his cock. Wants to watch him shatter and then pick up the pieces.

And Hawkeye's so fucking close. His grip on Trapper's hip like iron. His hips fucking relentlessly between Trapper's cock and his own hand.

One final twist of his wrist and Hawkeye's coming all over Trapper's chest and stomach. Trapper fucks him through it best he can as Hawkeye's back bows, his mouth open in a silent scream, eyes closed against the overwhelming pleasure.

And then Trapper's coming too, back arched, cock buried as deep as he can get in Hawkeye.

* * *

They both slump, panting.

“Well, fuck, Trap.” Hawkeye's leaning forward, both hands braced on Trapper's chest, and he's looking him right in the eye, seems to be checking he's doing ok. Trapper's doing more than ok.

Trapper grins stupidly up at him, still a little hazy from orgasm. Hawkeye leans forward to kiss him, and then stops, apparently just now realizing that Trapper's entire front is a sticky mess.

“I think you could use a shower before we enjoy the afterglow.”

“Well I'd be more than glad to take a shower, Hawkeye, but some maniac chained me to the bed.” Trapper adopts the accent of a southern belle. “But if a kind gentleman such as yourself could find it in his heart to rescue a poor innocent maiden, I'd be forever in his debt.” Then in his normal voice. “Might even let him shower with me.”

Hawkeye laughs. “Innocent, huh? I'm pretty sure you came out of the womb a lech.”

But at least Hawkeye's getting off Trapper's dick and throwing away the condom, and getting the handcuffs off him. And Hawkeye's in the perfect position – all leaning over Trapper to get at the handcuffs – for Trapper to surge up and kiss him once he's free. The kiss is deep and filthy and apparently enough to make Hawkeye forget what a mess Trapper is cuz he leans in further and gets all covered in his own come.

The kiss breaks and Hawkeye looks down at the mess. “Well, now you'd better let me shower with you, Trapper.” He doesn't really sound disappointed, though.

Trapper tackles Hawkeye down onto the bed. Kisses him again, grinding their bodies together, till they're both absolutely filthy. “Yeah, I guess I better. C'mon Hawkeye, I'll even wash your back.”

And they do actually get clean.

It's kinda nice, doing this having already come. There's no hurrying to get to the sex. Just a slow, relaxed enjoyment of skin against soap slick skin. Of being pressed between a hot mouth and cool tile. Of washing Hawkeye's hair, his body - touching every inch of him with no rush to do anything else.

Eventually, they're free of soap and the water starts to run cool, so they get out and dry off and get into their skivvies.

A process that maybe takes longer than it should cuz they're still stopping to kiss and feel each other up. And Hawkeye takes the time to rub pomade into Trapper's hair cuz he hadn't wanted to wear a shower cap – that woulda been just a little too goofy, and he likes feeling Hawkeye's hands in his hair anyway. But eventually they end up back in bed, cuddled up together.

Trapper lays a kiss on the top of Hawkeye's head. “Happy anniversary, Hawk. Was it everything you wanted?”

“It was perfect, you dumb schmuck,” Hawkeye says fondly. “Although I'm still shocked it took you an entire week to jump my bones. And even then, I had to jump yours first. We were sure a lot quicker off the mark in Korea.”

“That's kinda the reason, I guess.” Trapper shrugs the shoulder Hawkeye isn't laying on. “I mean, Korea was s'posed to just be a fling – just two buddies helping each other out - and we'd both go back to our normal lives after. And then when you “died,” I realized I was in love with you. But I still figured you'd wanna go back home, get married, have kids, all that shit. Even when you came to Boston, I didn't know how long you were staying – or what kinda relationship you wanted.”

Trapper sighs.

“And when I first got back, I didn't know who I was or where I was or what I wanted. And I didn't go through half the real bad shit you did at the end. I didn't wanna push you into something that you'd regret, you know? And I didn't wanna do something I'd regret either – cuz I love you, Hawkeye, any way you'll let me. But I didn't wanna think I had one thing and really it be another.”

Hawkeye tilts his head kisses Trapper underneath his jaw. “I love you too, Trapper. And I guess it's easy to forget just how lost I felt then, since I feel so sure of myself now. So I appreciate you thinking things through, instead of just jumping in with both feet like I always do.”

Trapper grins. “Someone's gotta be there with a plan when you get with a wild hare. But it all worked out pretty good anyway – and I had a lotta fun with you jumping my bones.” Trapper kisses Hawkeye again, this time on the mouth. “Plus, it gives us an excuse to celebrate.”

“Happy one year of having sex together, then.” Hawkeye raises an imaginary glass. “Here's to many more.”

Trapper lifts his own imaginary glass. “I'll drink to that.”

They cheers and then get back to celebrating in a way that involves a little more tongues in mouths and a little less imaginary glassware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks, thanks for reading and leaving comments and kudos - it really means a lot to me.  
> I've started writing the next installment of this story, but it's a longer and more complex work - less short vignettes and more an actual story - and I'm pretty busy with my new job. So I have no idea what my update schedule is going to look like but I'm doing my best to get enough written to post reasonably soon.  
> Thanks again for reading!


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